


Yours Truly,

by Beavi



Series: Chronicles of the South [1]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Baggage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Love Letters, Multi, Muriel POV, Original Plot, Other, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, also plot twist: Muriel can't find a friggin pen so the apprentice thinks it's, but only like a little bit of angst, flustered Muriel, obligatory bath scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2020-01-04 08:03:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 90,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18339527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beavi/pseuds/Beavi
Summary: Muriel isn't a fan of the apprentice. At least, he's trying very hard to keep it that way.There are obstacles to overcome and an impending plague to fight, yet Muriel only finds it getting harder to deny his feelings.A not-quite-enemies to lovers slow burn romance that takes a deep dive into the inner workings of this mountain man's mind and fills in the blanks of his past. Apprentice is written with minimal references to appearance & they/them pronouns.





	1. That's Gonna Leave a Mark

Huffing and out of breath, Muriel finally reached the protective charm at the top of the tree.

He knew this was long overdue. The bundle was barely holding on by a thread and there was hardly a whisper of magic left in it. It might has well have been a random bundle of sticks he threw up here. Muriel normally wasn't one to procrastinate, but day after day, he chose to let this one wait a little longer.

He just couldn’t help but put it off in hopes that a certain magician would come visit.

Each time he opened the door to his hut, there was the inevitable pang of disappointment when he didn't spot the fluff of white hair. Asra had a habit of popping by fairly often when Muriel had first gained his solitude, maybe even cooking up a delicious meal if he so pleased. But, that was exactly Asra's nature: doing things as he pleased. Given Asra's long absence, Muriel suspected that he was no longer a component of Asra's favour.

He didn’t like doing this trip alone.

But what was he to do? Asra’s attention was elsewhere. Or rather, with someone else.

The sudden stab of jealousy startled him.

Muriel generally tried not to let his mind wander. There were just too many dark, unpleasant places it could go when one lives in almost perpetual solitude. This particular place being one of them.

The nerves of having to do this task alone, paired with the growing ache in his body from the ascent, must have let the bitterness build inside him.

Steadying himself on the sturdiest branch he could find, he took a moment to breathe.

There were a lot of… feelings. It was almost overwhelming to try and process, so he just tried to keep himself calm. The last thing he needed right now, standing on a branch damn near reaching the clouds, was literally any other source of anxiety.

Keeping his eyes closed, he inhaled deeply, sighing the breath out until the tight knot of his brows relaxed. He focused on the mild sting on his skin from where the coarse bark had scuffed him the climb up, letting the sensation steady him. He let the cool evening air chill the sweat that plastered his long hair to his face and took a moment to appreciate the quiet hum of the forest.

The birds had begun to quiet their songs and the insects softened their hums as the sun began to bleed red into the horizon. This was all familiar to him. This forest was his home. It provided for him, kept him safe. Here, he was never a spectacle, only an observer.

The thought spread some warmth through him. He was honestly happy out here. Ever since he was a kid, when Asra made that first protective circle out here in the forest, he had dreamed of living in a quiet hut among the trees. A life where he’d never go hungry again. Where he no longer had to worry about being used.

There was just him, Inanna, and sometimes Asra, and that was good enough for him.

 

 

It was on the trip back down the tree, however, that Muriel remembered exactly why he disliked doing this alone.

He was still a decent distance from the ground when he lost his footing. He yelped a curse before gravity won over and he was sent plummeting to the earth below. His attempts to catch himself on the passing branches only managed to send a shower of twigs and debris down after him. Adding insult to injury, they pelted him after he landed, hard, on his back.

So much for those calming exercises.

This time, he just laid there, not bothering to move out from under the blanket of foliage he’d brought down on himself. It took a few moments to get his breath back anyways and by then he heard the soft padding of paws approaching him.

Inanna used her nose to push away a couple of the stray branches, giving him a once over to make sure he wasn’t too badly hurt, before giving a disapproving snort.

Muriel sighed. He was certainly going to feel this one in the morning. He wasn’t too badly injured but the soreness from the impact was already starting to build. He wasn’t as durable as he used to be, he certainly wasn’t a gladiator anymore. In fact, he felt that his hermit life was quickly turning him into an old man. He was still aging normally, obviously, but there were days where he just felt… old.

Today was one of those days.   

Muriel hissed out another curse as he rolled over to pick himself off the ground. With Inanna’s help he managed to stand and then eventually limp back to the hut. At least he wouldn't have to worry about that charm for another few months.

It would have been great, though, if someone with magical abilities was there to cast a spell, maybe floated him to the ground or something.

There was that bitterness again, bubbling up to the surface as he stewed. He was pretty angry. If Asra hadn’t been so distracted, he might have been here. He might have been able to help Muriel not fall, or at least been there to heal him after the fact. If someone hadn’t been keeping Asra, then he wouldn’t be stumbling back to his hut while it was too dark out for comfort, grumbling as he picked ingredients for a healing tea brew. Which wouldn’t be necessary if Asra had just been there.

Muriel was startled back to reality when Inanna gave a quick nip to his ankle. She could sense his agitation and always knew when he got himself worked up like this. He turned to her to make some snappy remark about how he’s entitled to his anger and all that, but her golden gaze wasn’t really scolding, it was concerned.

She was right, he was letting his jealousy get the best of him. He had never seen Asra as miserable as when he lost the other magician. Now that they were back, now known as his apprentice, so was Asra's joy. Muriel was happy for Asra. His friend had already done so much for him, he was really in no position to be expecting more.

That didn't mean he was under any obligation to like the apprentice though.

Muriel reached down and gave the wolf a quick scratch between the ears, thanking her.

As the two approached the house, something caught Muriel’s eye. Tucked in between the door and it’s frame was an item that certainly had not been there when he had left earlier. Inanna didn’t seem overly concerned, so he approached it to get a closer look.

He saw it was purple first, a bright shade that reminded him of Asra. It was something paper, an envelope. He pinched the exposed corner and opened the door to get it out.

Getting his hopes up, he examined it. There was writing on its front: his name in large letters and nothing else. The colour may have reminded him of Asra, but this definitely wasn’t his friend’s handwriting. This writing was a little messier, a little more childlike, as if it was written by a less experienced hand. 

Inanna gave it a curious sniff, but she just carried on into the hut, plopping down onto a pile of furs by the fire pit. Muriel followed, flipping the envelope this way and that to see if it held anymore clues on the outside. His natural weariness made him hesitant to open it, especially given how weak he had let his overarching protective charm get.

Instead, he set it aside, opting instead to grab some firewood to warm the place up and to get his healing tea started. A voice in the back of his head grumbled at the prospect of having to heal naturally but it was mostly drowned out by his curiosity over the letter. On his way back in from splitting the logs, he noticed a trail of footprints leading up to the door that were too small to be his own.

It wasn’t until he had done pretty much anything else that needed to be done around the hut that he had no more excuses. Inanna was dozing peaceful by the warmth of the hearth, the chickens were fed, their coop was cleaned, and he had finished his dinner. All the while, the purple parchment sat on the centre of the table, taunting him.

Finally, Muriel took a seat, envelope in hand.

He pushed his nerves down, if it had been from truly undesirable company, they shouldn't have known his name. That privilege was reserved for a select few. Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion of who this handwriting could belong to.

With a deep breath, he gracelessly ripped it open to get the letter inside. The parchment read:

 

_Dear Muriel,_

_I hope this letter finds you well._

_I am sorry to have showed up unannounced at your home, I know how much you value your privacy, so I decided that leaving you a letter would be the best way to do this._

_It is with careful consideration that I have decided that I want us to become friends._

_I know that there is an animosity between us. I do not know its origin. However, I hope that one day, if you’ll let me, I can earn your trust. You gave me this myrrh and I don’t want you to regret that decision, even though I know you only did it for Asra._

_I’ll patiently wait for your response._

_You’re always welcome at my shop and if you ever need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask._

_Yours truly,_

 

Muriel stared at the apprentice’s signature.

.................................... What?

Friends? He had quite literally just spent the last hour mentally complaining about their entire existence.

He looked back down, catching the small footnote.

 

_P.S. Have you been able to renew the charm at the top of the tree? It must be getting weak by now, but it’s so high up. I don’t know how you manage that, but you're strong so maybe it's no big deal for you. Anyways, please stay safe out there. If you want, I can come join you to make sure you’re alright when you do it._

 

A bark of something that might have been laughter escaped him and he reeled his arm back, ready to toss the letter in the fire.

But before he could send it to its ashy doom, he stopped himself. Rather, he found he didn’t have the heart to let the letter burn up.

At their concern, Muriel felt a small warmth in his heart. The beginning of a swell, the faintest hint of a blush rising to his cheeks.

 _"Stay safe out there,"_  they had said. 

Instead, he carefully placed the letter back in its envelope and tucked it in underneath some old rags. Out of sight, out of mind.

Or so he thought.

He spent the rest of the night trying to forget about it.

He wasn’t successful.   

 


	2. Late Night Musings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little angsty, but what can I say, that's my interpretation of Muriel. It'll get better for him though, I promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 83 years but I'm finally back with chapter 2. I would say I was busy but I did write a couple chapters of that R18 fic in the interim... 
> 
> I guess I have no excuse. Sorry anyways, but I hope you guys enjoy this chapter too! I'm excited for this story and I love writing this big, grumpy, boy.

The days events led to a restless sleep. It was still dark out when he had drifted back into consciousness for the third time that night.

He was uncomfortable. It was an overall sense of discomfort, there were too many things wrong, all of them lending themselves to worry. His back hurt, Asra hadn’t appeared in far too long, there was a literal ghost in the woods, and now he had unwillingly gotten himself a pen pal.

Was he expected to write back?

The thought made him pause.

Muriel has always been a man of few words.

As a kid on the docks, he was written off as shy. An easy target who wouldn’t push back against the verbal onslaught from kids who’d jump at any chance to put someone below them in the pecking order.

As a gladiator, his silence was read as ruthlessness. The Scourge of the South was an emotionless killer who didn’t waste any time in showboating, instead making quick work of any sorry soul who was put up against him. The imposed moniker became synonymous with a swift and silent execution. Even then, his “victories” were disappointments to the roaring crowds of Vesuvia, who cheered for every drop of his blood spilt in that ring.

It wasn’t until he became a hermit that he was finally allowed to be quiet.

There were no more expectant ears eagerly waiting to cast their judgement. He didn’t have to struggle to search for the right words, worry about how long he was being silent, or anything else. Even the limited interactions at the market were inconsequential. They’d forget as soon as he left anyways. 

That hadn’t always been the case though. In fact, market visits were once a dreaded part of his routine.

When the flames of the masquerade incident had died down, literally, he had taken to the street to test his new acquired Hermit's blessing.

The market had always been a point of anxiety for him. Upon seeing him, the sea of shoppers and merchants used to part, all going quiet and openly staring at him. Some would be starstruck, others angry, but there was always fear. They would tense, subconsciously taking up defensive positions against his mere presence. 

They used looked at him like he was a monster.

He couldn’t exactly disagree with them.

After a deep breath that day, he had stepped out into the street.

Nobody shrank away. In fact, people hardly moved. His hulking figure warranted a couple of sidelong glances, but the fear was gone.

He was no longer the Scourge of the South.

At most, he was just a very tall shopper.

He didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until he had made it down the entire length of the street without any recognition. Nobody took a second look, because why would they? He had no permanence in their minds.

He remembered that moment, standing at the end of the market, his heart hammering impossibly loud in his chest as he looked out over the crowds that no longer sneered his fighter name, that no longer spat on the ground as he walked, and, most relieving of all, no longer recoiled at the sight of him.

His eyes had pricked, and he ducked into an empty alleyway to cry, in earnest, with relief.

 

 

The only human company he kept was Asra. The young magician had been the only one he let remember him after his wish was granted at that doomed ritual.

Another wave of discomfort washes over him, remembering how at first, Asra had forgotten him too.

Originally, he had accepted that as his fate.

Before then, Lucio had used him as leverage against Asra to keep the magician under his service. Muriel had first thought it would be best that Asra forget him, let himself fade into complete obscurity. He believed it would be a small sacrifice for Asra's happiness and safety. Besides, by then Asra had his apprentice back. The two of them could forget about him and go off to live in their own world. 

But knowing that the magician would never come visit ever again hurt worse than any injury that had scarred him in the Coliseum. He didn’t see Asra often to begin with, but the thought of never again seeing that shock of white hair bouncing around his hut, feeling warm hands on his, getting a soft kiss that thrummed with a love that could only be built from years of solidarity…

His own pain was manageable. He wouldn’t have liked it, but he could have dealt with it.

It was, however, the thought of him not being there when Asra needed him, that drove him directly back to the magic shop, myrrh in hand.

 

 

Muriel sighed.

 _Don’t dwell_ he reminded himself.

Nights were always hardest for him. His mind would often wander back to the bitterest times. Sometimes he felt that his own brain was punishing him, trying to make him atone for his crimes by drudging up the worst it could find from the recesses of his memory. 

Sometimes it was the embarrassing memories. Normally it was the dark ones. The ones that brought ugly feelings that fought tooth and claw against the walls of his heart to escape, trying to be felt fully.

He had shared this with Asra once, who assured him this was normal. He advised that maybe he should embrace these feelings, they were a part of him after all. As much as he may not like it, the anger, loneliness, jealousy, all of it, they were part of who he was. They were his emotions and repressing them only made them come back with more fervour.

“Don’t bottle them all up Muriel,” his sleepy voice had said one night, curled up on the bed in Muriel’s arms and barely conscious. “Doing that will only give them the power that you’re afraid they’ll have over you.”

He trusted Asra, so he took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind to process it all. 

He was jealous.

He was jealous that Asra wasn’t coming to see him.

He was jealous and uneasy that Asra actively chose the apprentice over him. That Asra was likely sleeping cuddled with them, rather than with him.

Uneasy... was that the right word to describe what he was feeling? He was happy for Asra to have the apprentice back, but…

That person wasn’t the shopkeep he knew.

The shopkeep he knew had died of the plague over three years ago. He had been there, he had seen their pallid skin, their red eyes, and the agony on their face. He had even dared to place a comforting touch over their cold hand as they were carted off to the Lazaret. He had been there when they were buried, remembering the spot so he could break the news to his friend. 

The paid had been real, so had the misery of their loss. He may not have known the shopkeep well personally, but he could feel Asra's pain.

Now, though, there was some doppelganger or reanimated corpse that was masquerading as the person Asra loved.  

He would never admit it Asra, but the shopkeep look-a-like, now apprentice, gave him the creeps. 

Lately, he'd been inclined to think that whatever divine force was out there had sent these two ghosts to haunt him. Wrath and envy, his sins incarnated, here to remind and torment him.

He didn’t much care for either of them, and now they both seemed to have taken up company in his woods, a place that was supposed to be his refuge.

Now one of them left notes on his very doorstep. 

Now, one of them wanted to befriend him. 


	3. Dreams & Divination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did like 5min of research into divination rune casting, so please forgive me if there's some errors, we'll just roll with it. 
> 
> Muriel's divination leaks into his dreams, and an old friend pays him a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More letters to come! Muriel's just gotta work through something first, with the little help of his magic.

Eventually, sleep took him back under.  

Making his protective charms required him to access his own magic. It wasn’t as present or readily available as Asra’s or the apprentice’s. Getting to it was a slow process that involved ample amounts of concentration.

It laid dormant inside of him, and it was as if he had to cut it out to access it. He could feel when he opens up, and it's then that he can draw out the elusive energy. In his mind’s eye, he had always imagined it like honey. Warm, golden, and distinctly natural as it flowed through him. Directing it, he could pour it through and shape it into his wards and runes. It wasn’t painful, but the metaphor held true as it took time for the “wound” heal back over after use.

In the meantime, his magic would still permeate the air around him, especially as he dreamt.

The nights after imbuing wards into his protection charms often carried vibrant dreams. Sometimes they were mystical, vibrant displays of dazzling colours that drifted into his mind from the surrounding forest. Other times, which he dreaded, were cryptic messages of his own psyche.

The introspection he had been doing before nodding off seemed to translate into his dreams, unfortunately leading to one of those cryptic ones.

 

 

He found himself in the magic shop. The edges of the setting faded into wisps at the corner of his vision. Standing before him were Asra and the apprentice, the latter of which leaned against the glass display on particularly wobbly legs.

The dream was obviously blended with the memory of when he first met this version of them. When they had “woken up,” as Asra had described it later.

Back when it happened, he was beyond startled. They looked exactly as they had been before the plague, making Muriel’s heart ache with the grief of their loss. At the time, he had figured he was dreaming. He had refused to believe it was real.  

When Asra had smelled the myrrh he'd brought, the two had embraced at the entrance. Excitedly, Asra had told him that there was someone else he should meet and give the myrrh to.

“This is Muriel,” Asra had said, introducing him to a smiling doppelganger, “He is my best friend and a kind soul. I love him very much.”

“He’s going red!” they had giggled, reaching up to touch his heating face.

Naturally, he jumped back, away from the ghost of a person he had once known. The shock of their attempt to touch him sent an icy chill up his spine. 

He did feel a slight sliver of guilt as their face fell at his reaction.

“It’s called blushing. Right, Muriel?” Asra purred, getting that mischievous glint in his eye. “He blushes quite easily, you know. He may look tough but in that big body of his, he’s got a great big heart full of love.” He poked at his exposed chest, approximately where his heart was hammering against his ribs.

“Like yours?” They blinked up at the magician.

“I’m afraid I haven’t got half of what he’s got, as far as hearts go.” Asra said with a tight smile.

There had been something off in his tone.

“Muriel’s got enough love for the both of us though, no need to worry about that.” He waved it off easily, leaning back on his effortless charm to brighten back up. 

His dream-self was going through all the motions, following the script of the scene.

“Asra, what have you done?” He whispered, voice shaking now just as it had then. Fear had bubbled in his throat at the implications of seeing someone again who he had last seen buried. 

Asra gave a quick glance over to the figure Muriel had decided was better to pretend didn't exist.

“Be a dear and go wake the fire salamander, we should make tea for our guest.” Asra said to send the apprentice off upstairs. He turned back to him, giving a deep sigh. “Muriel, listen to me, I can explain.”

Muriel was silent. His mind had been reeling at the thought that his only friend had started dabbling in some very, very dangerous magic.

Necromancy? Blood magic? Something worse? He shuddered at the thought.

“I didn’t perform the magic myself,” he quickly assured, reading easily into Muriel’s horrified expression.

“H-How…” Muriel had been overwhelmed, mind racing to try and piece it all together.

“The ritual.” Asra explained. He told him how he didn’t remember exactly what happened, but that he sabotaged Lucio's attempt to reanimate using the power of the major Arcana. That he brought back their friend rather than the Count. 

“It’s still a construct, some sort of golem,” He shook his head, making up his mind, “An walking corpse. It’s not _them_.” His voice broke.

“Muriel,” Asra reached out to take his hands but he shrunk away, “I… I was desperate, I know, but please trust me, they’re no construct. It’s them, I brought them back.”

It would take much more time before Muriel began considering the possibility that this ‘golem’ with a familiar visage could actually be a living, breathing person. However, in that moment, he could only hear the joy and relief that coloured his friend's voice as he spoke of his new apprentice.

Asra was happy. Truly, genuinely happy.

It had been far too long since Muriel had seen him like that, so he didn't press further.

In the memory, he would have just given a short nod and turned on his heel to leave.

The dream shifted then though, losing the plot.

Muriel stood frozen as he watched the air around Asra shift, crackling with familiar sparks as his form was replaced by another. 

“I am real.” The apprentice said simply, standing where Asra had stood with a small smile on their lips.

Any response that Muriel could have formed caught in his throat. There was something about them that was more… themselves. The childlike wonder had left their eyes. Their gaze instead looked more weathered, but with the soft kindness Muriel had grown to trust a lifetime ago.

Their name escaped his lips and he felt the beginning of tears in his eyes. A wave of emotion struck him so hard he had to take a step back, startled by the sheer amount of relief he felt at their presence. Their  _real_ presence. He hadn't realized how much he had come to miss them. It wasn't like the two of them were ever very close, but the warmth that seized his heart at the sight of them like this was undeniable.

“I am healing, Muriel.” They smiled, a sight so achingly familiar, “I may be severed from my memories now, but in time I can remember. Even now, I reach out to you, searching for a connection I can’t quite place, but can feel its absence in my heart.”

They raised a hand up, exposing their palm to him. At first, he thought they were halting him, but written on it is a symbol he recognized from his casting sticks.

They show him Thurisaz, upright.

“Will you see the truth in me?” Their words seemed to whisper in a deep recess in his mind, the backdrop around them fading like wisps into nothingness.

Then, slowly, they rotated their hand until their fingers pointed down, reversing the rune.

“Or will you refuse?”

Muriel stood frozen. He certainly wasn’t used to this, divination generally wasn’t a collaborative process. His runes would dictate their insights to him and he would accept their answers, as vague as they might be sometimes.

It was rare they were this straightforward, and he especially had never _chosen_ his reading before.

He felt himself begin to wake, being tugged out of his dream. The last thing he saw before he woke up was the shopkeep close their hand and hold it close to their heart, bidding him farewell.

When he opened his eyes, it was morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some context from my rune research:
> 
> Thurisaz upright = Seeing the path of your future ahead of you and embracing truth. Reflection, acceptance, and protection of loved ones. Empowerment.  
> Thurisaz reversed = A stubborn refusal of truth, not heeding advice, resistance, defensive, struggling. Ignorance.
> 
> Also apparently it relates to fertility and "male sexual prowess" which I found out after I wrote this so that's fun too I guess.


	4. That Left a Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is why you don't go climbing up trees without a spotter, smh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: this chapter describes some pain and some injury. Nothing horrible, but Muriel's described as having significant back pain.

Muriel, with his hermit lifestyle, often found himself falling into routine. 

He woke every morning to the fussing of his roused chickens outside, clucking about with the occasional peck on the side of his hut.

The forest outside would begin to rustle as the wildlife began foraging and birdsong would echo through the trees. The heavy scent of morning dew would permeate the walls and, on sunny days like this, the rays of light would diffuse through the murky glass windows, causing the room to glow faintly.

Inanna would awake from her nightly spot at the foot of his bed where she nestled among his collection of furs. If he wasn’t already awake, she would nuzzle into his palm (or against his face if neither hand was accessible to shock with her cold snout).

He would rise, setting the furs aside in a neat stack, then gather up his water bucket to wash his face and brush his teeth before trudging outdoors. He’d check up on the ladies (the chickens) to make sure there was nothing pressing that demanded his attention. Returning inside, he and Inanna would share a quiet morning together over a breakfast of plain eggs.

This morning, however, broke his ritual.

Everything remained deceptively the same as he opened his eyes. The earthy musk of the forest and morning dew had settled inside and the sun was beginning to creep into the hut. Inanna was already up and had promptly shoved her nose into the hand that hung off the side of his bed.

Something was off though, besides the strange dream. Something that halted his routine in its tracks.

Muriel couldn’t get up.

A groan escaped him as his first attempt to sit up was a complete failure. The movement sent waves of pain rippling through his back.

Great. Just… Great.

Inanna gave a low whine at seeing him struggle. She hopped back up onto the bed, above his head, and helped nudge him up.  

“I’m fine,” he hissed, managing to sit up courtesy of the wolf. She laid curled around behind him, supporting him.

If Inanna knew to roll her eyes, he’s sure she would. She looked like she didn’t trust him not to topple over at any given moment. Instead though, he scooted forward on the bed, bracing himself to stand.

It took considerable effort, but he made it.

Satisfied he wasn’t about to keel over, Inanna trotted over to some rags opposite of the bed and began digging through them.

“What are you –?” Muriel started before Inanna tugged the purple envelope carefully out with her teeth. “Oh.”

She just stared at him, waiting for him to get the hint.

“Oh, no." He shook his head firmly, realizing what she was getting at.

She was going to run to the magic shop. After yesterday’s letter incident and the confusing dream, the last thing he wanted right now was the apprentice turning up at his doorstep for the second time in two days.

“I’ll be okay,” he muttered under Inanna’s intense golden gaze.

The wolf sat by the door, continuing to stare at him until she gave a defeated huff. Giving him one last once-over, she gave him back the envelope and wandered off outside.  

Muriel breathed a sigh of relief. One crisis averted, at least. There was still the issue of his current limited mobility though. That, and the envelope he was holding in his hands.

Deciding it would probably be best to forget the latter for the time being, he went about doing his best to follow routine.

It was a struggle, but he managed to get through his series of morning tasks and put on another brew of healing tea before the sun was too high in the sky. He wondered if he maybe had picked the wrong leaves after he fell, but closer inspection did indeed confirm that this was Vesuvian wyrmwort.

Asra had told him long ago that this was the go-to stuff to heal your injuries. This was, of course, before Asra had honed his healing magic.

When it was ready, Muriel sat back on his bed, blowing on the mug to let it cool down. The smell was sharp, pungent, and tasted undeniably worse. The healing brew never failed to bring back painful memories. The bitter, earthiness that lingered on his tongue was always a cruel reminder of Asra’s absence.

The taste brought him back to the docks. Struggling to maintain a flame hot enough to boil using sea-soaked twigs against a salty spray. Sitting alone huddled under his makeshift cloak, nursing the cuts and bruises marked on him by others struggling to survive. He would try not to spit the sour brew out by focusing on memories of happier days and better teas to mast the foul on his tongue.

The sharpness reminded him of the metallic clinking and rattling of chains as they dragged across a dusty floor. How he flinched back from the brush of a hand as a particularly kind-hearted hireling would tuck his overgrown hair back to hold a cup to his lips. Their mercy convincing them to break protocol and sneak him the tea after particularly brutal fights.

It brought him to this moment here in the hut, like so many before it, where he sat alone, hurt, and healing himself.

He downed the rest of his cup and sagged back on the bed before he let himself linger too long. He had always struggled with handling his past, unsure of how to even approach the flood of emotion that came with it. He wanted to follow Asra’s advice, to embrace it and accept it and whatnot, but it was so much easier not to. Not to mention much more pleasant.

Lately, he just settled for pinning the blame on those ghastly red eyes that seemed to follow him through the trees deep in the forest. The specter of a goat which tried to haunt him. Much to Lucio’s annoyance, the ghostly form didn’t hold nearly the menace his overly ornate physical body once had over him. Now the Count was more of a pest than anything.

A pest with a violent streak.

Muriel felt a sudden twinge of concern at that. The protections had been weak yesterday and the goat had been suspiciously quiet. Panic bubbled in his throat, what if the apprentice had gotten hurt? He was supposed to be checking up on them, keep them safe by Asra’s request. The only reason they had ventured into the woods was because Muriel couldn’t hide his animosity towards them.

At that moment, he couldn’t help but feel immature. The apprentice had come back to life for the Arcana’s sake. They had lost all of their memories and Asra, in his infinite compassion, had gotten them back on their feet. Naturally, they were going to become Asra’s priority. He certainly didn’t need Asra as much as the apprentice had.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want Asra more though.

Muriel knew that he wasn’t always the warmest host, but he was still having an especially hard time coming to terms with them. The words that would come out of his mouth were often impulsive. Their presence overwhelmed him. Even before, something about the shop owner had always radiated an immense energy, as if they were too bright to look at. There was a softness in their voice that made Muriel feel all sorts of things. Arcana forbid they ever say something… flirty.

The last time they had made a comment like that – calling him _cute_ of all things – Muriel thought he was going to need his heart restarted. He knew he was flustered easily but something about the apprentice made it so much worse. The audacity they had when they batted their eyelashes at him and flashed him a smile.

Probably the fact that Muriel didn’t like them. That had to be it. It must make him angry when they said things like that to him, that’s the only explanation for the reactions they got out of him.

A small voice in the back of his head reminded him that the same thing used to happen even before the apprentice had passed, that there were the telltale signs of a brewing crush before they succumbed to the illness.

He promptly stomped that voice out.

He shook his head, wincing at the movement but glad to clear his head. Right now, the pressing matter at hand was the issue that the damned goat-ghost might have caught the wayward apprentice.

How was he supposed to check on them? He certainly wouldn’t be able to make it all the way to Vesuvia in his current condition, he could barely make it from one end of his hut to another.

As if summoned by the thought, there was a loud series of raps on his front door.

“Muriel?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter coming soon, thanks for reading!


	5. Lemon Drop Debts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second letter received! Muriel's now realizing a bit of a dilemma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the spam everyone who bookmarked lol, I got some inspiration and some time so I'm not wasting this opportunity to get it all uploaded!

“Muriel?” the apprentice’s voice had called from just outside his door.

Startled, Muriel shot up from where he had been laying back on the bed and had to fling his hands over his mouth to keep himself from crying out as pain ripped through his injury.

The fire had burnt itself out over an hour ago, the embers no longer smoldering and no smoke to indicate anyone being home. Muriel remained completely motionless as the seconds passed. He didn’t dare move a muscle.

“Not home again… Do you think he’s alright?”

“ _Break in!_ ”

“No, Faust, we’re not breaking in.” The apprentice gave a heavy sigh. “I doubt that would help my cause.” Their voice changed into a mocking tone, “Hi Muriel, I’ve decided to follow up my weirdly formal, unsolicited letter by breaking in to your house!”

“ _Inside!_ ” Muriel heard what sounded suspiciously like a snake trying to wrap itself around the door handle.

“Ugh, what was I thinking? This is hopeless.” They said, back in their normal voice. “I don’t need to give him any more reason to dislike me.”

“ _Talk?_ ”

“I don’t think that would help either of us, Faust.” They laughed, a sound that brought a bit of warmth to his cheeks. “Muriel certainly wouldn’t love to chat with me.” There’s a pause, then a sigh. “And you know I can hardly focus around him. Do you even know how hard it is for me to form a coherent thought around him? I’m worried one day I’m gonna trail off mid-sentence and just stare. Maybe even drool.”

The apprentice’s tone was light, but that didn’t stop Muriel’s entire face from going red.

What in The Hermit’s name was that supposed to mean?

“Would it kill him to put a shirt on? Wait, what if he can’t find any shirts that fit and he’s cursed to roam topless forever,” they gasped, laughing as they spoke, “How tragic – Oh!”

Their sudden startle sent ice through his veins, but before Muriel could shoot out of bed, they continued.

“Inanna! I didn’t see you there. Is, uh … is Muriel with you by any chance?”

Inanna huffed.

“Oh, alright.” They sounded relieved. “I’ll be on my way then, I just came to drop this off.”

Muriel remained frozen even as he heard the undeniable sound of Inanna plopping on the ground, obviously enrolling his visitor as her designated belly scratcher of the day.

His lips were pursed, and his face was still red as he saw the purple envelope peek through under the door, the shadow of Inanna’s paw pushing it through.

“Oh, you’re going to escort me back? How kind of you!” was the last thing Muriel heard of them as they followed Inanna back out of the forest.   

This was all too much for him, but he still found himself grabbing the letter off the ground despite the stiffness in his shoulders.

It looked identical to its predecessor. His name scrawled across the flat side called to him to open it. He looked over to where he had tossed the first letter unceremoniously on the table this morning, then back at this one.

Well, here goes nothing.

 

_Dear Muriel,_

_Sorry, that first letter must have been was pretty strange for you._

_Don’t get me wrong, I do very much want to earn your favour, and the sentiment still stands about you always being welcome at my shop. I just think my tone probably came off too cold in the last one. I regretted it as soon as I got back._

_Regretted the way I wrote it, I mean. I didn’t regret reaching out to you._

_I hope you’re doing alright out there. It’s difficult for me when Asra leaves, being on my own, even though I’m in the middle of town. I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you. Being alone tends to get me lost in my thoughts, and that always leads to a headache._

_I’m sure you’re like a professional hermit by now, but if you ever get lonely or want some company besides Inanna, my door is always open._

_I hope to hear from you soon._

_(Oh, also Asra mentioned once at the market that he’d pick some of these up for you a while back. Hopefully that means you like them! They’re a little sour for my taste but the candy maker is very talented.)_

_Yours truly,_  

 

Muriel peered into the envelope to see a small drawstring bag.

Opening it, he saw five small, yellow candies. He recognized them as the same sugar-dusted lemon drops he and Asra would get as kids. They were a rare treat that they could never afford. Instead, every masquerade, Muriel would paint the candy maker a mask. Asra would bring it to her in exchange for the lemon drops and blue raspberry string candy. Once the mask sales were done, Asra would come back with his haul and they would sit together to indulge in their bounty of sweets. 

Asra always used to make a scene of trying one of Muriel's lemon drops, and overreacting to the sourness, contorting his face in such a silly way that it never failed to make Muriel laugh, genuinely. 

Asra tried it again not too long ago, the first time since he had been freed from the Coliseum. Muriel smiled, but he didn't laugh. 

He would never admit it, but he loved candies and sweets. Living jobless in the forest didn’t exactly lend itself to candy availability though. Somehow less so than living as an orphan at the docks. Candies were expensive. His eggs, while plentiful, hardly sold for enough to meet his bare necessities. He just had to accept that they were a luxury that he couldn’t afford, and thus would have to go without.

He didn’t realize there was a small smile on his face until he popped one of the drops in his mouth. The smile grew as he tasted the sugar, before puckering as he reached the tart lemon underneath.

 

 

As he worked away at the gifted sweet, he mulled over his options.

He was expected to write back, or respond in some way.

He imagined writing a simple:

_“No._

_M”_

It was satisfying to imagine, that he could end this whole thing with one simple note, but he figured this would only bring more of this unwanted attention. The shopkeep might even demand to sit him down and talk to him.

Now that he thought about it actually, could he write back? He couldn’t remember if he had ever picked up paper or any sort of writing utensil.

Back at the docks, Asra had taught him to read and write. The younger of the two would procure anything he could to show him the different letters and the sounds they made. At the time, Muriel had treasured their shared collection of scrap paper and various tools that could mark up the paper, ranging from sharp stones to squid ink. Their prized pen, though, was a kohl stick that Asra had apparently gotten from one of the older teens who pestered them.

Now, he wasn’t sure he had anything of use. He could write on the back of the envelopes or letters he received.

He was hesitant, though. Something inside of him wanted to hold on to them.

He supposed he could go try and buy one, but he doubted his egg yield would be able to cover the extra expense.

He could ask Asra, but that would spark too many questions. It upset the magician enough already that Muriel didn’t seem particularly keen on his apprentice.

So that left two options: either don’t respond, or show up at the shop to… talk.

He sighed, biting down on what was left of the little candy in his mouth. He looked back over the letters and down at the soft string bag he had been gifted.

 _You owe them now_ he thought to himself, frowning at the candies. Debt was an uncomfortable concept for him.

He carefully replaced the letter in its envelope, taking them both to the hiding spot he had designated the night earlier. Grimacing at the movement. He was a little better, but it was still going to be a frustrating amount of time until he was back to par.

Couldn’t anything be easy?

Taking a seat, he scanned his hut, looking to see if it held any solutions to his problem.

Surprisingly it did.

Beside the fireplace was his wood whittling tools. If he could pay for the candies with his masks, he could repay the apprentice with a carving. No more debt, no more discomfort in his chest.

Well, that was one problem solved, he guessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, Asra totally took teen Lucio's eyeliner when he was pestering Muriel once. It was the only time he had ever stolen anything and the guilt haunted him until he got to know Lucio better :/


	6. Memory of a Melody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a mission to flesh out Muriel's entire backstory, nothing can stop me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want it to be known that there was a time when this fic was at 69 likes and 420 views. I'd like to consider this fic blessed from this point on. 
> 
> This one's longer than the last ones, a couple more flashbacks, but I mostly just wanted to give Muriel some soft moments, he's going through a lot, he deserves this much.

It was over a day after that second letter that Muriel picked a short block of birch to begin his project.

He inspected the piece in his hands. Birch grain was very fine, and when polished the wood took on a glossy sheen. Its pale colour made a great contrast for his homemade paints, but it’s was a hard wood to whittle. He had to use a fair amount of force to carve the shapes in, and if he wasn’t careful, it could crack apart in his hands.

His tools were old, worn down and rusted from years of use. He sharpened them before he began to work, but they dulled quickly. Had he not been so sentimental about the small blades, he would have replaced them years ago.

The birch wood was his favourite. It was hard to come by in the Vesuvian forests, but on the rare occasion, the flash of its bright white bark would catch his eye and he’d have himself a bounty.

It never failed to burn well, even frozen. It didn’t pop, something he didn’t much care fore given the number of times he had been startled by his firepit. He once broke his only plate because of some particularly loud crop of pine. If the noise wasn’t enough, other woods would send embers out into his hut, sometimes singeing his furs.

He often didn’t have much choice. He had to use the local timber, but he always cherished every birch tree he found.

He supposed he could have used this piece to burn instead, to use it for himself instead. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something inside of him was telling him to make the nicest carving he could for the apprentice. He really wanted them to like it.

He sucked on another lemon drop as he began to work the block down. He didn’t know exactly what the apprentice liked, but they liked Inanna, so he decided to carve her.

He had carved wolves before, but never to the standard he was setting for the gift.

The repayment, rather.

One thing he had become quite skilled at, though, was masks. Looking over the block in his hand, he knew it would be too small for its intended recipient. Instead, he’d carve some smaller version. A pendant perhaps, but in the shape of a wolf mask.

He began by shucking off the corners and other excess around the basic shape of his creation. The force behind the movement brought back the stiffness in his shoulders. He had to take a break between every few cuts. He wasn’t fully recovered, and he was making slower progress than he had hoped.

He had been throwing feed out for the chickens, and the small act of that had him squeezing his eyes shut from the pain.

It was going to be an interesting week.

 

 

 

Everything was going slow.

Several days later and he had only just gotten the birch block down to the vague shape of what he wanted it to be, merely a canvas for the detail work to come. His injury caused his hands to shake if he worked too hard, so he could only carve for short intervals, taking long breaks in between.

His recovery process seemed to make each day drag on. One day seemed to take the span of three and the restless, uncomfortable nights would stretch on longer.

Normally, he didn’t pay too much attention to time. He took note of approaching seasons, but he had no use for years or dates. Asra would update him every so often, but he often let it slip from his memory. A life of general monotony doesn't generally require knowing what day it is.

There was one date he was annually reminded of, though. The easiest indicator of a year gone by was when Asra would secretly visit just after the leaves would begin to change in early autumn. This time of year, Muriel was often wary of returning to his hut.

“Happy birthday!” the excitable magician would exclaim as soon as he would open the door. Asra would string up numerous colourful lanterns and ribbons inside the hut. He’d cast sparkles from his hands which would litter all around his floor and would be a pain to clean up after. He’d frown at the mess, but Asra wouldn’t let anything sour the mood of his celebration.

He’d place some ridiculous paper crowns on their heads, then sit Muriel down with a sweet pastry from the market baker, alight with a candle. After listening to Asra dramatically croon a birthday song, Muriel would blow it out, and without fail, Asra would ask him what he wished for.

Muriel would always tell him.

“No, you goof, you’re not supposed to tell me!” Asra would interrupt him before he could reveal it all. A smile bright on his face as he would laugh, playfully pushing Muriel’s shoulder.

Every year it was like this, it was part of his routine. When the leaves changed, Asra would come and nearly give him a heart attack with his surprise party. They would share a sweet pastry as Faust explored the hut. Then, Asra would give him a wrapped gift. 

Asra always brought something unique, and Muriel would grow fond of it immediately.

Now, Muriel looked over to the shelf where he kept all of Asra’s trinkets, each marking another year. It was getting a bit full. He would have to make room on it for one more soon.

The leaves outside had already changed colour. Some were even starting to fall, blanketing the earth with their decay.

He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, even a little forgotten. He figured, at least, that even the longest journey Asra could take would still put in Muriel's hut when the leaves changed. Depleted charms be damned, Asra always visited this time of year.

Ever since he spotted the first yellowed leaf, he had kept a keen eye out for any sign of visitors if he was out of the hut for the day.

Well, he did seem to have one reoccurring visitor now, just not the magician he longed for.

 

 

The next morning, Muriel was surprised to find a frost that had settled over the forest. It had still been quite warm and sunny as of late, so the chill was completely unexpected.

It sent him into a panic when he woke to the temperature drop. The lingering pain of his injury had caused him to delay repairs he planned to do for the chicken coop. It had a couple of cracks and was certainly not properly prepared for this level of cold.

When he rushed over, he was relieved to find most of the ladies out and about, business as usual. When he checked inside though, he found one laying nearly prone inside.

His heart seized, but he was both startled and relieved when the hen gave a great, screaming sneeze.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he swept the ill hen up and brought her indoors.

Muriel was no doctor, but he recognized this chicken. She was quite mild-tempered compared to the others (some would gladly peck his eyes out for a single grain of feed, maybe even less). He hadn’t named them, but when he saw this one, the word that came to mind was, “rosy,” because of the pinkish sheen to her tawny feathers.

Rosy seemed to be particularly sensitive to the cold. She’d fall ill often in the winter and always recovered, but it never failed to have Muriel on edge until she was okay again.

Step one for Rosy’s cold recovery was warming her up, so Muriel wrapped her up and held her close to him until he could get the fireplace going.

He’d always had an abnormally high body temperature. He was comfortable even in winter with only his pelt. Summers were often uncomfortably hot, though.

Rosy snuggled up against his skin, even after he got the fireplace going. He sat there with the hen held close for a good portion of the morning, softly petting and feeling his own worries melt away as he saw her eyes close with glee when he lightly scratched against the back of her head.

Step two was a poultice. He set the bundled-up hen a safe distance from the open fire.

“Don’t let her cook herself.” He told Inanna, who had returned shortly before he got up. The jealous look she gave the sick bird as he was petting her made him a little concerned that he might return to a pile of discarded feathers in place of the chicken, but he continued out anyways.

He didn’t have to travel far before he found a good patch of soft moss. As he collected it, he happened to noticed that the tree it was on was barren of leaves.

In fact, the ground was more leaf than dirt at this point. Looking around, most of the autumnal foliage had already fallen from the branches, leaving them barren.

And still no Asra.

At this point, he wasn’t sure whether to be sad, worried, or jealous. His mind decided he would feel a strange concoction of all three that he had to press down to focus on the task at hand.

He kept himself distracted by putting extra careful attention to the poultice process. He imbued it with his magic, a form of abjuration that came quite easily to him, and made a mental note to be prepared for more weird dreams tonight. He wrapped it over Rosy’s feathers and resumed his earlier position as human furnace.

Inanna padded up to him to sit leaning up against him, content with the closeness as he tended to the sniffling hen. The fire had settled, crackling lightly into the air and casting the hut in soft, orange hue.

The moment was comforting. Here, all that mattered was that he could help heal the hen that he cradled in the crook of his arm. He could protect her, and Inanna was safe curled up beside him. He focused on that and let himself relax.

 

 

Or, at least, until Rosy started fussing. She wasn’t too happy with the sticky moss that soaked through her feathers or the fabric he wrapped around her to hold it all in place. She kept trying to pick it off.

This was to be expected, and Muriel knew exactly how to deal with it.

He began humming softly, no tune in particular, and watched as she seemed to take one last tentative peck at the wraps before letting herself rest into the baritone rumble of his chest.

He set a hand over her back, gently petting the non-bandaged feathers with his thumb as he continued. Without really realizing it, his soothing hums led him to a familiar melody.

His voice followed the memory of a song, one he had heard a life time ago. Back to the Nevivon bard who would sometimes do impromptu shows down at the docks for the children there. He was the only person Muriel had ever seen have full immunity there.

The man had radiated kindness from every pore. He was often dirty, living on the streets between sea voyages, but that didn’t mask the gentleness and genuine warmth in his smile. He carried a hand-made stringed instrument that looked shoddy at best, but it’s resonant sound never failed to leave the children in awe.

The musician would often ask for requests and would even go so far as to learn songs children remembered from home.

One day, he had asked Muriel.

Muriel, who had intentionally stayed in the shadows for the performance, didn’t know any songs. He just stood there, frozen silent as all the other kids turned to stare right at him.

It was Asra who saved him from the moment, stepping in front of him to call out a request of his own.

Towards the end of that day, with Asra’s help, the musician found him again. He offered a song that he said he thought Muriel would like.

And Muriel did.

He was hesitant at first, keeping his distance. As the man started though, he ended up sitting right at the man’s feet as he played. He strummed a simple, gentle melody that seemed to almost float in the air. His voice was soft as he sang to him, his younger self staring up at the musician with wide eyes, captivated by the forlorn verses.

The musician had played it several times after that night, saying he got a “silent request” anytime he spotted a spectator hiding in the shadows at his performances. 

Muriel now found himself humming along to the memory, the tune coming back to him with surprising clarity.

Even though he was barely doing anything more than whispering, Muriel still had to take it down an octave to be able to sing it with his gravelly voice.

“ _Why in the night sky are the lights hung?_ ” he remembered, catching the end of the verse. Following the melody, the lyrics flowed out of him without much thought.

Inanna peered up at him, seeming curious at he began his serenade. 

“ _Why is life made only for to end?_

_Why do I do all this waiting then?_

_Why this frightened part of me that’s fated to pretend –”_

He nearly choked on the last word as the door to his hut creaked open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger!  
> I read that Ask Arcana answer about how Asra once walked in on Muriel singing to a sick chicken and it gave me the inspo for this scene. The song he was singing was [Blue Spotted Tail by Fleet Foxes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=teElNB0WuDI) ). It's such a beautiful song, highly recommend y'all check it out.  
> Thank you so much for reading! Love you guys :^)


	7. Healing Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think my ultimate goal for this fic is to write that 100k slow burn that someone will irresponsibly start reading at midnight and will stay up to finish the whole thing. In the future, if that’s you, know that I applaud you.  
> In the meantime, thanks for all of you who picked this up so quick! I'm happy that this creative project is being so well received, I'm so grateful. 
> 
> Also I wasn’t kidding when I said slow-burn, it took 7 chapters and over 9k words before they even saw one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one escapes the hardship of customer service jobs, not even magicians.

 Muriel jumped up, hissing through the shock of pain it caused, instinctively holding the hen protectively against him.

Inanna was right at his side, haunches raised at the intruder.

“Sorry!” squeaked a familiar voice.

Considering the situation, Muriel went through a number of emotions at whiplash speed. The small hope he had inside of him, that it was Asra, died. He was disappointed but relieved it wasn't an intruder or something worse. Then, it was confusion, even anger, as the door opened further, the apprentice stepping into the hut with their hands meekly. Then, it was embarrassment at having been caught singing of all things. If Asra caught wind of this, he'd never let him live it down. 

Faust was coiled around the apprentice's shoulders, flicking her tongue out at him as a greeting, not seeming to notice his defensive position. He relaxed slightly, still keeping the hen close. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, I went to knock but the door was already open and I- I heard the singing so I thought-” Their excuse seemed to spill out of them, a rush of apologetic words.

“Leave.” His voice was gruff, surprising himself with the bitterness in his tone. 

“Oh… Okay. I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have just come in like that.” They shrunk back, looking chastised as they stared at the floor. “I brought this for you though. I hadn’t heard back from you, so I was starting to get worried that maybe you had gotten hurt or something.” They mumbled.

He didn’t move. He stood his ground as his eyes followed the apprentice. They reached into their bag and pulled out yet another purple envelope. They held it out to him, but he made no move to come closer. Getting the hint, they instead walked over and set it on his table.

They looked crestfallen as they reached into their bag and also pulled out a wrapped box.

“Asra asked me to give this to you for him.” They sounded disappointed.

Nearly as disappointed as Muriel felt.

They must have saw the furrow in his brow deepen at their words.

“I’m sorry, Muriel. Asra’s been all over lately, he says he’s close to some sort of breakthrough. He brought this a while ago, asked me to hold onto it in case he couldn’t come back in time.”

They looked at him and somehow understood right away.

“I miss him too.” They set the gift on the table, curiously glancing at the pile of leaves he had prepared for his healing brews. They picked up a leaf to examine it, giving it a scrutinizing sniff before recoiling. “Is this wyrmwort?”

Muriel didn’t answer.

“Ugh, it definitely is. It’s so bitter, I can’t hack the stuff.” They placed the leaf back down. “Wait… does this mean you're hurt?”

Concern rushed to their features as they gave him a once-over.

“Certainly this isn’t all for that chicken you’re suffocating there, is it?.” They pointed to Rosy.

" _Squeeze!_ " Faust exclaimed.

Muriel nearly dropped her immediately, not realizing how hard he had been sqishing the poor thing up against his side. He was so focused on his visitor that he hadn’t felt her squirming to try to get free of his arm. She gave him an annoyed peck at his hand when he set her down on the bed, clucking what he could only assume were chicken curses at him.

He gave her an apologetic look before turning back to the apprentice. The movement, however, sent another ripple of pain through his back that he made the mistake of wincing at.

“You are.” They shook their head. “Must have been bad if you’re willing to drink all this.” they said waving at the small mountain of leaves.

“I’m fine.” His voice was still strained. Inanna gave an annoyed huff at his dishonestly.

The apprentice took a step towards him and Muriel immediately retreated back a step. They stopped and put their hands back up, trying to put him at ease.

“Let me help.” When he didn’t respond, they added a, “Please?”

“No. Leave... please.”

They sighed, seeing that they weren’t getting anywhere with this.

“Well, if you won’t let me help you, what about the chicken?”

He was confused.

“Can I heal the chicken? She’s all bandaged up, I can help her.”

This was a bad idea. Muriel knew that he didn’t want them to stay any longer than they already had. He was upset that Asra wasn’t coming, and on top of that, felt unbelievably guilty at nearly crushing Rosy.

He supposed he owed the hen that much though.

Begrudgingly, he stepped aside, giving the apprentice access to their new patient.

He felt his face flush when they game him a relieved smile and went to sit beside the fussing chicken. Examining the bandages, they looked surprised.

“There’s some pretty powerful magic in this poultice, did you make that?”

Muriel just looked away.

“That’ll make things a lot easier actually. So, she’s not injured per se, did she just caught a cold?”

He dipped his chin, something resembling a nod.

They closed their eyes and pressed their hands around the hen, and let the magic flow through. Muriel could sense the change in air, it took on almost a static quality.

Their magic had always had a different fell to it. Muriel always felt Asra's magic like water down a river, free and flowing, cool on his tongue. With his own being akin to honey, the apprentice's magic was a stark contrast to both of theirs. The apprentice’s seemed to sizzle the air, crackling it to make the hairs on the back of his neck rise, like the air before a thunderstorm.

It used to make Muriel nervous, especially when they had first come back. Their power was still there, but they had no means of controlling it. Any time Muriel was present for their magic, he felt as though the apprentice held a deep well of energy just underneath the surface. As if the sparks in the air were merely a warning of the lightning strike to come. Even Asra taught them only the most basic magic, not wanting to bring them back to the level they were at until he was certain they could control it. 

His worry dissipated as the electricity in the air did. The apprentice opened their eyes again, looking pleased with themselves.

“There, all better!” they said, giving the hen a few pats and unwrapping the poultice from her feathers.

He scooped the hen back up, inspecting her over to confirm.

The apprentice laughed.

“You must care very much for your chickens, that’s admirable.”

“They’re not _my_ chickens,” he grumbled, but was satisfied with the apprentice’s handiwork. “They just live here.”

“My bad.” They say, but their smile borders on affectionate. “You just looked like a dotting parent. I get those sometimes through my shop. They bring their child in for a reading and keep the same mindful eye over them the entire time.”

He grimaced at the comparison, but held the hen close, genuinely relieved she was back to full health.

“Well, I think I’ve proved myself, I’m not some hack trickster.” they say, playfully wiggling their fingers at him, “I’m the real deal.”

“What?” He said, staring at them.

“It’s your turn! Please? Come on, I can help. I want to help.”

“I already knew you could do magic.” He huffed, looking away again.

“Oh…”

Were they blushing?

“Sorry, I’m just used to being underestimated." They looked sheepish, running a hand through their hair, "That, or being accused of being a fake anytime someone gets an unfavourable reading.” They sighed, dejected. “Anyways, so you should know what I’m offering.”

He frowned.

“I see two options for you. Either you endure this ailment for however much time it takes to heal on its own, drinking that nasty tea all the while,  _or_ ,” they dragged the last word out, giving a dramatic shrug, “I could patch you up right here and now, then you can get rid of me.”

“You won’t leave if I don’t agree?” he raised a brow, unamused.

“No promises.” They gave a half-smile that they had definitely learned from Asra.

Well, he was really tired of living like this.

With a great sigh, he sagged a bit, giving in.

The apprentice looked far too pleased with themselves at that.

“So, what happened?”

“Fell.” He admitted after a moment. 

The apprentice patted the spot in front of them on the bed, motioning for him to sit with them. Reluctantly, he followed their instruction, gingerly setting himself down.

“Soreness, stiffness, pain?” They suggested.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” taken back by his blunt answer, “Where?”

He tries to motion to his back but winces again.

“Ah, okay.” They assure him so he won’t move anymore, and Muriel noticed their face redden again. “I’m, uh, going to need to put my hand on your back, is that alright?”

Muriel shed the pelt from around his shoulders, leaving his back and chest bare.

The apprentice swallowed and shook their head slightly. He turned so he was facing away from them, a blessing for him to hide his matching blush.

“What about this?” they indicated to the shackle and chain around his neck. “If your back hurts shouldn’t you take this off?"

He froze. That wasn’t an option for him. He assumed if he really tried, he could be free of it, but he about to start trying now.

He’s aversion to the question was answer enough to the question for them.

“Alright then.”

The apprentice warned him before they place their hand gently on his spine, as close to his neck as they could get with the collar in the way.

He heard them sigh before the sparks began to ignite the air again. It felt like small shocks to his muscles, each seeming to twitch of their own accord as the relaxed and mended, following the trail of their touch. The apprentice’s hand roamed, slowly tracing down his spine.

At one point he shivered at the touch, their hand nearly caressing his skin as it descended. It was an odd sensation, but not an unpleasant one. Eventually, they reached the top of his pants. Finished, they retract their hand.

The remaining healing magic that lingered from the touch sent energy to his very core. He felt as though he could easily climb back and down the tree he fell from without breaking a sweat.

“Done.” The apprentice breathed.

Muriel tentatively stretched out. To his relief, all the soreness had left. It was the first time in a week he had been able to move this freely.

He turned to rise again, but noticed the apprentice sway, nearly toppling off the bed.

He caught them just in time, pulling them back up into a sitting position.

“Sorry,” they slurred, bring a hand to their brow. “Dizzy.”

He stood up and eased them down to lay back on the bed. The wave of concern going through him as they screwed their eyes shut.

“You were more injured than you were letting on.” They mumbled.

“You should’ve stopped.”

“Not a chance, I'd be no better than one of those 'hack tricksters' I keep getting called if I didn't do the job properly. How are you feeling, all better?”

He nodded.

“I’m glad.” They breathed a sigh of relief, sinking into the blankets. “I’m breaking the deal though, sorry.”

He gave them a quizzical look.

“Unfortunately, I won't be out of your hair for a while yet.” They groaned, covering their face.

At this point, Muriel still kind of wanted them to leave, but he wasn’t going to send them out in this condition, especially after they helped him.

“Then rest until you can.”

“Mmthankyou” they mumbled, their words slurring together. Rolling over in the bed. They were asleep moments later.

 

 

 

As they slept, Muriel brought the hen back out to the coop, letting her loose there. Faust had kept trying to check her out and she was rather generous with her pecks around the curious snake. It was safer for everyone is she was let back out.

When he went back in, he noticed that the apprentice had curled up in their sleep. For a moment, it was like nothing had changed.

He remembered a night years ago. He had been sitting at the table, whittling in front of the fireplace. The apprentice had been napping peacefully, much as they were doing now. He didn’t remember what lead up to that moment, but he remembered the surprising warmth the domestic comfort brought him that night.

It wasn’t exactly the same now, but that was to be expected.

This wasn’t the same magician.

He brought some more firewood in to keep the fire going. Satisfied with the temperature he’d set, he took his seat at the table looking between the wrapped box and the purple envelope.

He wasn’t quite read to deal with the first one, so he opened the envelope.

 

_Dear Muriel,_

_Have you been well? I haven’t heard from you yet and I’m starting to worry about you. I hadn’t seen you either time I dropped off the previous letters._

_The alternative, I guess, is that you don’t want these letters._

_I hope that's not it, but I do have a confession to make: I wasn’t completely honest before._

_I wasn’t just writing for Asra’s sake. It’s me who wants us to be friends. Asra does too, but that wasn’t why I wrote that first letter to you._

_You seem like a truly good person, and I know that you want your distance from most others. I just took it too personally. I felt like if you didn’t like me, it meant I had been a bad person before I lost my memories._

_I was hoping that if I could win you over, it would mean wasn’t_  that _bad._

_It was selfish of me. I realize that now. The offer still stands, but if you really don’t want to accept my offer of friendship, I’ll understand._

_Yours truly,_

He read over carefully, fully understanding what they meant. It felt weird, knowing that his approval meant so much to the apprentice that they would trek out through the woods several times just to deliver these messages.

_P.S. Is it your birthday soon? Asra left this gift for me to bring to you if he wasn’t back by now. He didn’t really give a specific date, just told me to bring it as soon as the leaves fell so I’m not sure. If it is though, happy birthday!_

So Asra really wasn’t coming, and his friend had even anticipated that he wouldn’t be able to.

Muriel never cared much for the date. It was Asra who insisted on celebrations to commemorate another year gone past for him, but the day Asra arrived for it was always a happy one.

He supposed the birthday message in the letter was a nice sentiment, but it didn’t feel like it. He knew it wasn’t their intention, but the message read like cruel mockery.

He didn’t want their birthday message, he wanted Asra.

He put the letter back on the table and got up to go get some fresh air, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shiver run through the napping figure.

Was it too cold for them? He thought he had the fire quite hot. Then again, he wasn’t a great judge of that.

It brought him back to reality, though. 

Asra wouldn’t have missed it this year if it wasn’t important. It was unfortunate, but he knew he’d see his friend again soon.

And here he was, all but throwing a tantrum over what? A sincere gesture from someone who he’d been needlessly rude to?

He’d been wrong too, Asra wasn’t even in Vesuvia. The apprentice hadn’t been keeping him from visiting like he had previously thought. He’d been getting worked up over nothing.

Well, not nothing. Sometimes when Asra and his apprentice were together, it was like nothing else in the world mattered. It was painful to see, but it was what made Asra happy, so he never complained. At least, never out loud.

Muriel sighed.

He didn’t know what he was going to do. Befriending the apprentice had always seemed like a foreign concept, something that was removed from him even when he first met them years ago. It never really felt like an option. They had Asra, what would they need him for?

Now that he thought about it, if they had reached out to him like this before the plague, he probably would have taken some time, but eventually he imagined he would bashfully accept.

He looked at the sleeping figure on his bed, remember the dream, remembering the choice he had.

Thurisaz upright or reversed.

In his gut, it didn’t quite feel right. This was the person who had essentially replaced him as the target of Asra’s affection, taking him from Muriel when Asra moved into the shop with them. They were his supposed ghost of jealousy, existing only as an ever present reminder that Asra would never be just his again.

But right here, right now, all he saw was a friend of his friend, laying cold on his bed because they had come all the way to the forest to try and befriend him, then used all their energy healing him.

Maybe he had been reading too much into the reincarnation thing. 

Maybe he could see the truth in them if he looked hard enough. 

 

Muriel collected a couple furs from the pile at the foot of the bed. He draped them gently over the sleeping figure. Taking it a step further, he grabbed his pillow, as old and thin as it was, to put under their head. 

Though they were still unconscious, they seemed to reach for it as he placed it under them, clinging onto it and making themselves comfortable against it. Once satisfied, they were mostly hugging the pillow, the corner of it barely making it under their head.

A warmth rose in his chest and seemed hummed through him as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. They turned their face into it and settled with a contented sigh, snuggling their face into the fabric. 

 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muriel might just be making some breakthroughs, but what's to come? Next chapter soon. 
> 
> Btw, I've planned out everything that's gonna happen in this fic and I'm super excited to write it, so hopefully there isn't another 2-month break in between chapters (sorry bout that). I'll warn you now though, I've got a lot of ambitious ideas. I'm basically writing an alternate route for romancing Muriel, but told from his perspective. I'm giving him so much backstory, but as I write, more chapters in the actual game are gonna be published. Since there isn't a ton of info on him yet, I'm taking some bold liberties so we'll just call this canon-adjacent.
> 
> Wink wink nudge nudge, there's a journey ahead for this Big Boi, both literal and emotional :3


	8. A Welcome Overstayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got the chickens in the back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the second version of this chapter, disaster struck as I was nearly finished it and word deleted my save. I had to rewrite the whole thing :'(

Relieved of his burden of back pain, Muriel went right to work on fixing the chicken coop.

It was absolutely, one hundred percent, because he was a responsible person who does his chores. That was the reason he nearly ran out of his hut to come out here.

Totally not because his eyes kept drifting to the apprentice’s peaceful, sleeping face when he stayed there.

Certainly not because he would blush any time they moved to snuggle deeper into his pillow, hugging it close.

And most definitely not the fact that every moment he spent near them dwindled his resolve, making him forget why he had any animosity for them in the first place.

He had put the letter away with the other two, hidden out of sight. He placed the still-wrapped box up on the shelf with the other gifts. He’d open it next time Asra came to visit.

Muriel hadn’t realized how much the coop had fallen into disrepair since he last worked on it. If he hadn’t accepted the apprentice’s offer, he was sure more of the chickens would have gotten sick before he recovered on his own. No healing brew or poultice of his would have gotten him well enough to fix it in time.  

Rosy kept her distance, making it very clear that she was still mad at him for the earlier incident. Not too mad though, he knew she would come back around in a few days or so.

The other chickens hovered around him, hoping he brought more feed out with him. In fact, he was running concerningly low on it, his injury having set back his market visit. The ladies were self-sufficient and didn’t rely entirely on the feed, but they didn’t have much patience for him if he was late in bringing them the good stuff.

Right now, though, they were crowding around him in such number he was having a hard time working. They heckled him and pecked through his pelt, searching for any hidden grain.

As he tried to clean out and replace the bedding, a some of the hens took the liberty of hopping on top of him. They gracelessly slapped him with their wings as they gained their balance on his shoulders, and one took a spot on top of his head.

As if she hadn’t realized she’d chosen the worst possible place to roost, the hen on his head settled down into his hair. If he moved to quickly, she’d dig her talons in to steady herself, causing him to wince.

Just accepting his fate, he continued to work as gingerly as possible.

The sun had begun to set by the time he finished adding the last layer of insulation. As he inspected his work, heard a laugh.

He looked over at the apprentice, now awake, who leaned up against a nearby tree. They had a hand over their mouth, concealing their smile as they watched incredulously.

The movement shook the hen on his head, causing her to scold him with her talons and wings again.

He grimaced and went to shake her off, but she was already being lifted up.  

The apprentice had caught her, pinning the wildly flapping wings down to her side, before setting her a safe distance away.

Muriel stayed still as they continued, removing the other hens who had taken to settling on top of him while he had mended their coop. Gently plucking them off his shoulders, they laughed.

Their laugh was hearty, seeming to come from deep within them, unrestrained and shameless. It was a sound Muriel was unaccustomed to, and frankly shocked to hear. They hadn’t laughed like this since he first met them, nearly a decade ago, before the general hardships of life had suppressed the sound. It was pure and unapologetically joyous.

Muriel had to admit, it was kind of contagious. Without realizing it, the corners of his lips twitched upwards as they patted down his pelt, getting the feathers and debris off it.

“You okay?” They asked, smiling brightly enough to reach their eyes. They extended a hand to help him up, but his initial hesitations rose back up at the thought of accepting their help again. Instead, he looked away and pushed himself up off the ground.

Their laughed died down as they pulled their arm back.

He gave a huff of affirmation at their question though, pulling his hood up self-consciously to hide his face away.

He looked back at the chickens, silently bidding them a good night, before leading the way back to the hut. On the short walk over, they looked over at him.

“So…” They sounded sheepish. “Did you read the letters?”

Muriel felt himself shrink down, he was nowhere near ready to approach this topic.

They read into his silence though, taking a step away with a nod.

“Ah, okay. Don’t worry about them then.” Despite sounding disheartened, they forced a smile. “I guess I should be on my way then-”

They had already begun to turn away when something inside Muriel panicked. He just said the first thing that came to mind.

“What day is it today?”

The apprentice paused, blinking as they processed his question.

“October 22, why?”

“Then it’s not my birthday.”

“Oh…” They trailed off, but then realizing what he was getting at, they began to blush again, “Oh! When is it then?”

Muriel had to think for a moment. It had been a while since he had to recall the actual date.

“September… 10th.” He finally remembered.

“Happy belated birthday then!” They extended a palm.

Muriel stared at it, unsure of their intention.

They gave a nervous chuckle, balling their hand up into a fist before trying again.

“Damn, I know Asra showed me how to do this– ” On their third try, a large burst of glitter erupted from their palm, sending shining specks of blues, greens, and purples raining over them both.

After a beat, the apprentice began laughing that same heartwarming laugh, trying to apologize through it.

Muriel was still too shocked to react. The front of his pelt shone like raven feathers from the sparkles that caught in the tousled fur.

As if forgetting who they were with, the reached up to try and jostle the mess out of it. Muriel instinctively stepped back as they reached for him.

They gave another sheepish apology, taking their hands back.

“It’s fine.” He mumbled.

Seeing he wasn’t too bothered by his new acquired glam, they got that teasing glint in their eye again. They took a step back, evaluating the twinkling pelt like a dressmaker at the market. They pursed their lips and stroked their chin.

“I think I made quite the improvement if I do say so myself,” they said, breaking character as they laughed again.

Muriel didn’t whether or not his pelt had glitter on it. He was transfixed on the glitter that had landed in the apprentice’s hair and rested on their eyelashes. With the light of the sunset, their eyes literally sparkled up at him.

He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help himself.

“You know, if any of your other clothes need bedazzling I wouldn’t mind offering my services.” They teased, flashing him another smile.

He didn’t answer, and it was with tremendous effort that he was able to redirect his attention back to the task at hand. When the two of them reached the front door, he opened it for them without thinking.

“I, uh, shouldn’t overstay my welcome.” They pointed over their shoulder, indicating that they should probably head back.

He had to admit, things were getting quite complicated for him lately, but no matter how he felt about the apprentice, he wasn’t about to let them wander out into the forest alone at night.

He looked out as the last wisps of sunlight bled into the horizon. It would be dark in no time.

“You can leave in the morning.” As much of a clear-cut decision it had been for him, he felt some nervousness at the prospect.

He hadn’t noticed how tense they had been until the line of their shoulders dropped at his response, as if a wave of relief had visibly gone through them.

It tugs at his heart a bit to see them give him such a grateful look.

“Thank you.” They tell him sincerely before stepping into the hut.

He took a deep breath of fresh air and then stepped inside himself.

 

 

He realized later that he really didn’t have any food for them.

He counted his eggs. There wasn’t even enough for his bare minimum supplies at the market. Frowning, he scavenged around through the rest of his makeshift kitchen, searching for anything else edible.

The apprentice had mercifully let the hut fall into a comfortable silence since they were welcomed back in, probably some small form of thanks on their part.

When he looked back over the table though, they gave him a smile and gestured down at a tied cheesecloth bundle they had set out. Apparently, they had brought some food from home with them, planning to have a picnic out in the forest if they didn’t catch him in his hut again.

They untied it once they had his attention. He noticed all the food looked all homemade, with the exception of a loaf that sat, still wrapped, off to the side.

“The least I can do is feed you since you’re letting me stay the night.”

They had complained once before about his diet last time they had been here, boldly claiming such frivolous things like salt were needed for his eggs.

As he stood closer, he saw some type of curry with rice, roasted vegetables, sliced fruits, and some sort of syrupy treat. Muriel hesitated, but his traitor of a stomach growled at the sight. He frowned down at himself as the apprentice breathed a quiet laugh.

They insisted he sit as they prepared everything. He felt awkward being waited on, so he stared down at the table as they plated the food.

When they set his in front of him, he noticed the food was still hot. Magic, he supposed.

He took a bite and couldn’t help but smile a bit. It was delicious. The apprentice took notice and gave him a smile themselves.

They ate in silence at first. Faust emerged from wherever she had been hiding and curled up on the table, happy for the company.

He was so focused on indulging in the spread of food that it wasn’t until they were nearly finished that he realized they had packed a surprising amount. Certainly more than they would have carried just for themselves.

Did they plan on sharing this with him from the start?

He glanced between his plate in theirs with suspicion.

“I didn’t plan this, if that’s what you’re thinking,” they said between bites. “Sometimes…” they bit their lip as they looked over the food on the table. “Sometimes, when Asra comes back from his journeys, he’d take me in a clearing not too far into the forest for a picnic. You might know it, it’s a favourite napping spot of his.”

Muriel gave a slight nod, he knew exactly where they meant. That spot had been a sort of refuge for the two of them years ago. The place was so decked out in wards and protection charms that it might just be the safest place in Vesuvia by now.

“I’m sure it was just wishful thinking, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the shop without packing enough for him too.” They sighed. “Just in case he was there.”

Muriel recognized that look, and he was sure his own mirrored it. They both missed him incredibly.

“I can’t blame him though, he seemed really freaked out the last time I talked to him. Apparently, he thinks the plague might be coming back.”

Muriel’s blood turned to ice.

No, there was no way, it was supposed to be cured.

But then again, the Count was supposed to be dead, and here he was practically knocking on his front door again.

He looked over at them, remembering the day they said they would stay behind, to help the Vesuvian people recover from disaster three years ago.

He remembered seeing them, eyes red as blood and skin sickly pale, their breaths shuddering out of them before they were taken to Lazaret.

He didn’t want to remember the cries of agony he heard muffled into his chest as he held Asra after breaking the news. And yet, they seemed to echo through his mind.

“It would be really bad, yeah,” they agreed to his horrified look, chewing thoughtfully. “But apparently the Countess has gotten some new leads that could help. I’m going to the palace tomorrow to hear more about it.”

Muriel remembered the murder investigation they were being sent on, chasing that idiot around Vesuvia.

“Priorities have shifted a bit in the investigation, but thanks to your tip, we were able to get Dr. Devorak on board. We’ve been working with him, trying to piece together what exactly happened that night. That’s taken a bit of a backseat to the whole plague re-emergence though.”

He scowled, it was bad enough that the apprentice was staying over in his hut, now they kept bringing up plagues and his friend’s ex-lover. These were not topics he wanted on his mind at night.

 

 

 

They finished their meal in relative silence before Muriel cleaned up. The apprentice had taken up sitting by the fire, Inanna curled up beside them much like she had before.

“What was that song you were singing earlier?” They asked eventually.

Muriel grimaced, he was hoping this wouldn’t come back up.

“Nothing, it was nothing and it’s none of your business.” He grumbled, grabbing several spare pelts to lay out on the ground by the far wall of his hut.

“Oh, sorry. I just thought it sounded nice.” And then, under their breath, they added, “you sang it nicely.”

He was too tired for this.

His mood had soured considerably since dinner. It was the exhaustion of healing catching up to him, paired with the discomfort of having his overnight visitor. He needed to

He plopped himself down on his makeshift bed, facing towards the wall so he had his back to them.

“Muriel?” When they didn’t get a reply, they continued, “Muriel, sleep on your bed, please. I can sleep over there if you don’t want to share it with me. I would feel horrible if I kicked you out of your own bed.”

Share??

Were they suggesting…

“Then feel horrible.” He sneered back, glaring daggers at the wall.

A voice in the back of him scolded him for the outburst, but he was too tired to care.

They were quiet.

As he laid there, some of the fatigue that had been clouding his judgement faded.

What was wrong with him?

“Sorry,” he mumbled, regretting the bitter tone he had used. He curled up a bit in on himself. “It’s fine, take the bed.”

“I’m sorry too.” The apprentice whispered back.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone's grumpy :(  
> His introvert power bar ran out. 
> 
> Also y’all, idk if the devs and I are just connected on some spiritual level but all that planning I said I did? Well they beat me to some of it and made it canon  
> The flower crowns, the journey south, Morga running fast af, even the whole “I fell asleep outside your room guarding the door,” and more.  
> I’m might still leave some of it in my writing, but it’s gonna be my version of it … Maybe I’ll just have to write faster to get all my stuff out before the next chapter so I won’t have to worry about it lol  
> For real though that chapter was so cute, (that face Muriel kept making though had me laughing so hard tho, what WAS that??)
> 
> But also you knoooooow Morga’s staraptor pokemon thing is gonna be in this fic now, that shit was so cool. God I love her. Screw a Lucio romance, let me romance his mom.


	9. Nice Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There may be some familiar moments in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I have no concept of chapter length, sry

Muriel’s dreams were disturbed, to say the least.

His magic still flowed through him, causing a dizzying array of vibrant reds and oranges to dance in his vision as he slept.

It was fire. The tendrils of flame reaching up and consuming him, trying to burn him to ash and take the forest down with it.

The ground began to shake below his feet.

From the north, a skittering horde of red beetles charged towards him.  He braced himself, but they rushed past him, swerving around him at the last second.

He turned to follow their path, watching them run over Vesuvia, leaving nothing but fire and ash in their wake.

They followed the sound of a heartbeat. At first, he could hear it only faintly, from a distance. It was coming from the southlands, just before the mountains.

He watched in horror as the beetles conquered the lands, unstoppable as they raced towards the sound. The pulsing grew louder and louder as they approached. The noise was oppressive, seeming to pound into his skull.

It was barely a moment shy of when he thought his skull was going to shatter that he woke up.

 

 

Muriel shot up off the ground, clutching his head, but no pain remained. It was all in his dream, or nightmare rather. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath.

The apprentice was asleep on his bed. Inanna had taken up her usual spot at the foot of it despite the new occupant. Their breathing was steady as they slept, so he focused on that, trying to match how own breathing to theirs.

It seemed to work as he was able to anchor himself back into reality as he let the tranquility of their sleep filter into him.

He was still shaken up, but he was fully awake now. He busied himself by putting away the furs he had used as bedding before picking up his egg basket and heading outside.

The fixed coop must have inspired something in the ladies because he now had a considerable haul, one large enough that he wasn’t too concerned with making ends meet this time around.

By the time he returned, his guest was just starting to wake up.

“Good morning.” They said tentatively, carefully watching him for any clue to his mood. They were still on the bed, sitting up and scratching between Inanna’s ears.

He gave a quick nod in response before heading over to start up the fireplace.

They stretched out, letting out a big yawn as they swung their legs over the side. They rubbed their eyes, managing to spread yesterday's glitter all around.

Their sleep-tousled hair splayed out in a number of angles,  adding to their dishevelment as they finally stood.

“I guess it’s time for me to take my leave,” they yawned again.

“Have breakfast first.”

“Oh…” A smile grew on their face, “thanks.”

Muriel made quick work of frying the eggs and served them on the table much like the apprentice had done the night prior.

If they any complaints about the lack of seasoning on the eggs, they didn’t speak up about it this time. Instead, they chewed mindfully, looking lost in thought.

It was strange, but Muriel felt oddly domestic with them. Maybe it was the relief of having some company to distract him from the unnerving nightmare.

_Maybe they’re not as bad as you made them out to be._

He shook his head, banishing that pesky voice from his head.

“I…” He started, but couldn’t find the words. There was just too much going on in his head right now. What did he want to say? He wanted to apologize for being an ass. He wanted to make sure they were okay.

A part of him wanted to confess that their presence overwhelmed him in the most confusing way. That he was impulsive and defensive, that it felt like he couldn’t think rationally around them, and that he didn’t have the strength to deal with the emotional turmoil.

He wanted to admit that the encouraging smile they gave him as they patiently waited for him to find his words only helped to make him mentally flat-line.

“I’ll walk you back.” He managed to say instead.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Muriel just huffed.

“Alright then. Thank you.”

Muriel couldn’t help but notice how sweet their smile seemed.  

 

 

Muriel grabbed his pelt cloak and his basket before following the apprentice out the door. He noticed the dull, overcast morning was slowly beginning to transition into darker clouds.

The two of them walked down the familiar path without speaking. He noticed their eyes would dart over to them every once in a while, opening their mouth like they wanted to say something before shutting it again and biting their lip.

He had to admit, he appreciated their consideration. He was in no mood for small talk.

Not that he ever was, really.

It was about halfway to Vesuvia when the dark clouds drifted directly overhead. The first raindrop landed on the bridge of his nose. Peering upwards, he saw the clouds begin to let loose.

The apprentice held out their own hand, catching a few of the raindrops in their palm.

Before either of them could react, it started to pour.

The apprentice gave a startled laugh and held their bag on top of their head trying to protect themselves form the watery onslaught.

Muriel looked down over them as they laughed at their struggle to stay dry. Without really thinking, he shrugged off his pelt.

He was about to drape it over their shoulders when he realized what he was doing, a moment too late, and he panicked. A sudden shyness overtook him and he nearly threw the heavy cloak on top of them.

They dipped down with the weight of it but caught it before it could slide off. They looked up to him, a glimmer of wonder in their eyes.

He knew his face was beet red, so he looked away.

“Thank you,” they said as they pulled up the hood over their head, “but now won’t you get wet?”

“I don’t mind it.” He mumbled shutting his eyes and turning his face upwards into the rain to try and cool his face down.

It felt nice, the drops splashing on him felt cool on this skin. It soaked through his hair and dripped down his shoulders.

He made the mistake of looking back at the apprentice. They were nearly engulfed in the over-sized pelt. A small smile had risen on their lips and, he was sure he was imagining this, but it looked like they were ogling him from under it, a blush mirrored on their face as well.

He pursed his lips and looked away, praying to any deity that would listen that his heart would stop fluttering.

 _Cute._  That damned voice came back and intruded in his thoughts.

 

 

When dirt roads turned to cobblestone as they neared the city, the rain died down a bit, only drizzling on them now.

Muriel shook his soaked hair out, trying to get it to stop dripping so much. The apprentice laughed softly as he did, pulling the fur tighter around them to avoid the spray.

Satisfied that they weren’t going to get drenched, they shimmied the cloak off, folding it over their arm and returning it to him.

“Are you headed to the market?” They asked pointing at the large basket of eggs he had brought with him.

He stared a second, debating whether or not to answer honestly.

Eventually he gave a nod.

“I’m headed there too,” they brought their hand up to back of their head, “If, uh, you want to go on ahead first you can, I can head to my shop for a bit instead if you want.”

“It’s fine.” 

They flashed another smile at him, seeming happy that he was allowing them to stay in his company for a little while longer.

They walked side-by-side through the streets of Vesuvia. Being with the apprentice seemed to draw more attention than he was used to, and he shrunk back anytime someone would stop to greet them.

“Let’s take the back alleyways.” They suggested, giving him a concerned look.

“Why?” he gave them a suspicious look, unsure of their suggestion.

“They’re mostly empty, we won’t run into as many people.” They offered, worrying their lip again as they pointedly looked around at the others on the street.

He sighed, they were right. It would certainly be better for his nerves to follow their suggestion.

When they finally reached the market, though, it was far more crowded than he was comfortable with. In stark contrast to the shaded, empty streets they had taken to get there, it was bright and colourful. Music echoed between the buildings, harmonizing against the hum of bustling chatter as merchants promoted their wares.

He found himself freezing up before entering. The apprentice took notice and gave him a sympathetic smile.

“I’ve never been here,” he admitted, glaring at the energetic scene ahead of them.

“Really? Is this the first time you’re selling your eggs?”

“I sell them to a merchant behind his shop, I don’t go near this part.”

This section of the market had always been far too busy for his taste. The social energy that flowed from it was overwhelming, even to approach. When he had tested out his gift, he still stayed far off to the outskirts of the market. Even then, those areas were busier than where he would normally visit. This was uncharted territory.

Admittedly, though, he had never been brave enough to go on his own, but he was always a little curious about some of the things that were sold here. Even from his vantage point in the alley, he saw tables full of unique and interesting things.

He inched closer to the entrance, peering around from the shadows to get a better view.

“If you want to take a look around, I can be your bodyguard,” they said with a playful smile, puffing out their chest to try and look tougher.

Muriel straightened his posture slightly, standing closer to his full height beside them, effectively towering over them. _They_ were going to be _his_ bodyguard? He raised an eyebrow, having demonstrated his point.

“I’m serious! I can lead you through the crowds and fight off anyone who gets too close.” They rose their fists up with a wink in his direction.

Their sudden surge of boldness was surprising, but he did find it kind of amusing.

“Let’s go together, Red Street has some of the best stuff Vesuvia has to offer, it’s the fashion district.”

Oh, so that’s what he was seeing. The bright fabrics and glittering displays were all clothes and such.

He had never had much use for fashion, but he would be lying if he wasn’t intrigued by it sometimes. It seemed bizarre to him at first, that people would concern themselves so much with what they put on their bodies for the sake of modesty.

It wasn’t until Asra started buying his own clothes that he had gotten more interested in it. Asra always managed to find the strangest clothing items, including a spongy pair of bright orange shoes. His magician friend would laugh any time he put them on, calling them the ugliest things he owned, and yet the magician was incredibly fond of them.

Asra’s fashion was an outward expression of himself. Muriel supposed his own choice of clothing depicted him quite well. The dark pelts with broken chains, a broken history of a man who lived alone in the woods.

His eye had always been drawn to colour, though. Red was kind of ruined for him after seeing it’s overuse with a certain Count. Seeing it brought back painful memories and ugly emotions.

Others, though, he found quite nice.

“So what do you say?” They offered a hand out to him, an open invitation.

The prospect of holding the apprentice’s hand sent his heart back into a flutter. There was no way he would make it out there, though, without something to ground him.

He eyed a particularly brilliant cart just outside the entrance. Taking a deep breath, he accepted the apprentice’s hand with his own shaking one.

They smiled impossibly bright at him before bringing him out into the light.

Everything had been muted from the alleyway, but as he came into the street, the bustling environment seemed to consume him. Everything was bright and warm. People danced around a flowing fountain where a musician had perched to play her bouncing tunes. There was laughter and an excitement that seemed to permeate every square inch of the street. Wherever you looked, people had smiles plastered on their face as they perused the shops.

It was a happy, overwhelming place.

He shrunk back when some of the merchants looked at them. Rather than jeering at him, though, they waved at the apprentice calling out their name and trying to show off some of their wares to them as they passed.

He knew he was gripping their hand too tightly, but he couldn't help himself. He was so tense as they walked through. They didn't seem to mind though. 

In fact, they gave him a reassuring squeeze back and flashed him a smile. 

The apprentice brought Muriel first to the shop he had been eyeing before. It was a scarf merchant, their small shop overflowing with the plush fabrics, covering every colour in the rainbow.

Muriel found himself entranced by the hypnotic array of their selection. The merchant smiled warmly at him, beckoning him to look at a basket filled with glittering fabrics that shimmered as they moved.

He looked at them nervously, they were pretty but they reminded him of the palace. Just an ostentatious display.

The apprentice caught his reaction and shook their head at the seller.

“Do you have anything more… subdued?”

With a nod, they heave up another basket from behind their counter. The apprentice gasped before he even got a chance to get a good look at them.

“Muriel, look!” They pulled out the prize they spotted.

It was a slightly courser fabric than the flowy ones they had been shown before. It was a vibrant shade of green that still managed to have a muted quality to it. The colour reminded him of the soft ferns that grew in the forest.

It was definitely pleasant to look at.

He didn’t quite have a plan for what he was going to do on Red Street, he had just been curious about what was in it.

He certainly didn’t plan on trying anything on.

That’s why he froze solid when the apprentice reached up to place the scarf over his head, adjusting it around his neck to their satisfaction.

The fabric was much softer than he thought it would be, the plush comfort something that felt incredibly foreign to him.

His face heated considerably as the Apprentice looked up to him with glee.  

“It looks positively dashing on you, young man!” the merchant bolstered, flinging their arms wide to emphasize their enthusiasm.

“It matches your eyes,” the apprentice’s voice was quieter, more muted against the jaunty presentation of the rest of the market, yet still just as vibrant.

He flustered, not used to the onslaught of compliments. Shyness returning, he moved to take the scarf off.

Before he grabbed it, though, the apprentice had already handed the merchant several coins.

“Pleasure doing business with you! If you, or your handsome friend here, ever desire another one, you know where to find me!”

He stared at the apprentice incredulously.

“Why did you buy it?” He asked, about to pull it off his head.

The apprentice stopped his hands, holding the scarf in place.

“I saw it on you and knew it would be the perfect birthday gift.” Their smile grew as he blushed deeper.

“It’s not my birthday.”

“Fine, then a belated birthday gift, which merits even more stuff, now that you mention it. I’ve got to make up for the time I missed.” Their grin was mischievous, playfully swatting his hands off of the scarf so they could adjust it again.

“This is too much.”

“It’s merely a scarf,” they told him as they took his hand again, leading him further down the market. “Besides, it’ll be winter soon and as far as I’ve seen, you don’t even own a shirt.” They waved vaguely over at his exposed chest.

His blush was bordering on obscene at this point. He was surely flustered, but one thing he did notice was that as he held their hand, even as they insisted on spending their money on him, the rest of the market faded into the background. Even the overwhelming number of people began to feel trivial, the only person he really saw there was them.

As if he was lost in some other world with them.

He guessed he couldn’t really blame Asra then, it was the apprentice’s fault. They had some strange effect on them both.

The apprentice caught him perking up at the smell of smoked eel, a rare delicacy that he could never afford on his own.

That glimmer returned to their eye and they bought him a skewer without batting an eye.

He tried to refuse it, but his mouth was watering at the sight of it.

“Happy (belated) birthday, Muriel. It’s rude to decline a gift.” They said thrusting the skewer at him.

It tasted as wonderfully as he remembered. To his surprise, he felt a small smile come to his face.

The apprentice was downright spoiling him.

Were they trying to buy his friendship?

He probably would have pressed them on this if his mouth wasn't full with delicious food.

 

 

As they roamed and explored together, Muriel found himself growing accustomed to the feel of the apprentice’s hand.

After browsing a particularly gaudy jewelry stand, Muriel was ready to go, so he took the apprentice’s hand by himself.

He startled himself with the action, freezing as soon as he realized what he did. It didn’t help that a blush ran over their face as well, but they gave him a smile and led him back out of the market.

“I guess we should go see that egg merchant of yours now.”

Muriel nodded, glad to be back on track.

When they arrived, the egg merchant was there, accepting eggs from another supplier before turning his attention to them.

“And who might you be?” He addressed Muriel.

“Doesn’t matter.” He replied, setting the basket up on the table.

“Huh, a good number here, quite large too. Good haul.” The man appraised, stroking his chin before reaching into his coin purse. He pulled out several coins and slid them over the counter to Muriel.

“Wait a second,” the apprentice interrupted, looking accusingly at the merchant, “you’ll sell these for over ten times that price.”

“I gotta keep my shop running somehow.” He shrugged, “either take the coin or take your eggs back.”

Muriel reached for the coins but the apprentice stepped up in front of him.

“You just gave the man ahead of him double that amount for less than a dozen eggs.”

“Yeah, so? I know that guy, I know he delivers quality stuff. I don’t know your friend here, I’ve never seen him before in my life. I don’t trust him or his eggs, as many as there may be. They could all be duds, so I’m not taking chances on no stranger.”

The apprentice scoffed.

“So if there’s some kind of verification, then you pay them properly?”

“Absolutely, I’m not the scammer you’re accusing me of being. I’ve been burned before, if these eggs all turn out to be rotten, I can’t hold some stranger accountable, now can I? I have no idea where I could track this guy down. I’d be out of business if I gave out coin that willingly.”

They looked over at Muriel, who was incredibly uncomfortable with the whole situation.

“Do you know me?” they asked the merchant.

He nodded, “Yeah, you and the magician run that magic shop.”

“Perfect, so then you know I’m a reputable merchant myself. These are good eggs, I had them for breakfast. If there’s any shortcomings or issues, you come see me. Sound good?”

He seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding, “I can take that.”

“I’ll, uh,” they hesitated, trying to find the right words, “If anyone comes by to sell eggs, and they say they’re partnered with my shop, you pay them the full price, alright?”

“Strange business to get yourself into, an egg sponsor,” he laughed, picking through the coin purse for more payment, “I think I’ll remember the big fella here, how many more are you planning on doing this for?”

“Not sure yet. It’ll probably seem like a new person each time though,” they slipped a wink at Muriel.

He felt like he was in a stunned stupor as he collected the coins off the table, far more than he ever would have expected to get.

The merchant bid them good day and the apprentice helped lead them out of there. It was a solid few minutes before Muriel spoke again.

“You didn’t have to do that…” he mumbled, a bit embarrassed at the situation.

“I told you, I’m your bodyguard. I wasn’t about to let that guy undersell you like that, it wouldn’t be right. You're worth- I mean, your eggs are worth more than that.”

“But what if something happens? He’ll come to your shop.”

“And I can deal with him there." They shrugged, "Just promise me you’ll remind him every time that you're with my shop? You can’t possibly live off the pennies he gave you.”

“I do fine.”

“Well, this way you can do better than fine.” They smiled and squeezed his hand again, bringing his attention directly to the fact that they were, indeed, walking holding hands. The reminder brought a bright blush back to his face, but he didn’t pull away. “Do you mind coming with me to one last shop? It’s in a quiet area.”

He nodded and followed as the apprentice led the way. They eventually came across a larger shop in an emptier part of the market. The merchant who occupied the spot was dressed like a hunter.

Muriel noticed that the hut hosted a collection of various skins and furs.

“Do need any?” They asked as they dug through their bag, “I’m putting in an order for the Countess, but she said I could add to it if I wanted.”

He eyed sheepskin that looked particularly warm, but shook his head before the apprentice took notice.

“She said if _you_ wanted.” Even with his raise, the coins he could wouldn’t nearly cover the cost of one of these.

“If there’s something you like, then I’ll want it for you.”

“Why?”

“Because you deserve nice things.” They put simply.

Now that was a topic he wasn’t willing to approach today.

He just shook his head no.

“I have plenty already.”

They gave him one last look to be certain, but then shrugged.

The order they placed had surprising length and Muriel wasn’t sure he was able to wrap his head around the price it had racked up for the palace.

“It’s a lot, right?” The apprentice mused after they left the fur stand. “I wonder if she thinks it’s gonna be a cold winter this year.”

Muriel just shrugged. He didn’t particularly care about the frivolous spending of the palace.

The apprentice looked upwards, judging the time from the sun’s position in the sky. It was already well into the afternoon by now.

Upon realizing this, the apprentice cursed, startling him.

“I’m late.” They explained as they let go of his hand, turning to face him as they stepped backwards.  “Thanks for everything Muriel, until next time! Safe trip home!”

Then they bounded away, sprinting in the direction of the palace.

Once they left, the silence and his empty hand felt heavy.

He touched the scarf again, admiring the softness of it between his fingers. 

It was in that moment, as he watched their figure disappear after a turn further down the street, that he realized the strange yet familiar feeling that began to weigh on his heart.

It was the beginnings of longing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>    ⠀  (\\__/)  
>    ⠀  (•ㅅ•) The Apprentice  
> 　＿ノ ヽ ノ＼ __  
> /　`/ ⌒Ｙ⌒ Ｙ　ヽ  
> ( 　(三ヽ人　 /　　 |  
> |　ﾉ⌒＼ ￣￣ヽ　 ノ     
> ヽ＿＿＿＞､＿＿_／  
> 　　 ｜( 王 ﾉ〈  ⠀(\\__/)  
> 　　 /ﾐ`ー―彡\ (•ㅅ•) Muriel
> 
> I can't believe [Asra's Crocs](https://thearcanagame.tumblr.com/post/162209598557/what-did-asra-do-and-why-have-both-julian-and) got a cameo in my fic. 
> 
> Also I'm weak, I couldn't just NOT put that shopping district scene in this fic. Tried to expand on it a bit though so it was still kind of new. Muriel's making some realizations, but what's gonna happen next? I kind of spoiled it earlier but *apprentice voice* you'll see~


	10. The Comfort of Coarse Fur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Muriel is living the spongebob episode where he has to write an essay, writes "The" and calls it a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back to read Dawn of the Grub for some of the upcoming chapters and you know what.... I might be on to something. I mean, it wouldn't be a huge stretch for the stuff I planned to be at least somewhat canon, but we'll see!

Muriel was becoming increasingly concerned with his inability to get the apprentice out of his head.

A few days had already passed since the market trip, but he kept finding his thoughts drifting back to them: their smile, their quips, and the completely unwarranted level of compassion they seemed to have for him.

He guessed, though, that that would change if they knew the truth. If they knew who he had been, what he had done.

He felt entirely undeserving of the fineries they kept introducing into his life. Candies, delicious food, scarves, all of it was far more than he deserved.

It wasn’t fair to them, either. They had showered him in these gifts, forgiven his missteps, and still shined their bright smile at him.

Since he returned, he had worked carefully on his carving. He hadn’t worked this hard on any project like this in years.

The image changed as he sculpted the wood to his vision. While he had first planned on carving Inanna, the pendant was beginning to take a slightly different shape. As he worked, his mind had returned to the market place, how soft their hand was in comparison to his calloused palms, and how holding it seemed to make the rest of the market disappear. When he looked down at the pendant to appraise the work he had just done, he noticed the eyes he shaped were kinder, more resembling theirs than Inanna’s piercing gaze. 

His wandering mind hadn't just been affecting his craft, though. He felt as though, when his hands weren’t occupied by his whittling tools or any other chore he set himself out to do, they felt empty.

He began being afraid of taking breaks. When he had finally finished carving, he went right to polishing it, smoothing it out to get the glossy sheen. He decided not to paint it, the grain of the pale wood seemed to work perfectly with his little creation. It swirled symmetrically down the face, accenting some of the tufts of fur he had detailed in.

One morning, it was finally finished.

He took it around with him that day, testing it in all different lights to make sure there wasn’t a single detail missed or any flaw he hadn’t spotted when he worked by the firelight.

He was content. He had done the best he could do. But now, he could feel the nervousness bubbling up at the prospect of what was next.

He realized he had forgotten to grab something to write with while he was at the market. He could have afforded it with the raise the apprentice had gotten him, but he had been so dazed from the events of the day that he had just gone straight home.

In fairness, the stationary merchants were all located in a very busy section of Vesuvia, something he would much rather avoid if possible.

He turned over the carving in his hands, it shone brightly when it caught the light, almost like a polished rock rather than birch wood.

It had been a while since he had come across another grove of the elusive tree. He probably only had one or two pieces of it left in his wood pile. Winter was fast approaching, so he had been hoping to come across more. It was one of the few woods that still burned well frozen, so it was ideal in the cold season.

He had kept a keen eye out, but there had been no flash of that white bark anywhere.

White, papery bark.

 

He suddenly brought back to a day years ago. He and Asra had been sitting in their clearing, just enjoying each other’s company. Safe within their protective charms, they called the space their own, a temporary home at the time.

The forest didn’t exactly lend itself to a lot of available collectibles, so they made do with what they could find.

Muriel had found that birch bark could be taken off in large sheets if you were careful. Best of all, all you needed was something sharp, then marking it was as clear as any pen to paper.

Asra had been laying in the clearing as he doodled idly, using a fallen branch Muriel had whittled down to a point for him.

 

When he went outside to check, one of the birch blocks still had its bark. To his luck, it was relatively clear of any other marks. It would work well. 

He laid it flat on the table, weighing the corners down with stones, trying to get it to abandon its curl. He grabbed one of his whittling knives and went to writing.

He brought the tip of it to the pink inner side of the bark and…

Nothing.

He had no clue what he was supposed to write.

He hadn’t even made up his mind about their proposal.

To his surprise, his gut told him that he should accept. The thought of the apprentice considering him a friend put butterflies in his stomach.

He had always been slow to trust people, so why was this happening so suddenly?

After a moment's though, he wondered, was he actually slow to trust people?

Now that he thought about it, he had accepted Asra’s friendship almost immediately. He could even remember growing to love the magician rather quickly too.

Most people didn’t approach him with smiles and compassion. If it wasn’t immediately hostility, it was that unnerving appraising gaze they’d send over his tall figure, mentally calculating a way to use him in some form or another.

Asra had always told him he was soft-hearted, but insisted that was a virtue, not an imperfection. He said that the imperfection was the manipulative, aggressive people around them.

He guessed he was right about him being soft-hearted. It only took a day of kindness for the apprentice to overwhelm his thoughts.

He wanted to see them again, which was an incredibly foreign concept for him. Even before the plague, their presence had always been tolerated at best. The jealously that clouded his vision made him keep them at arm's length. 

He thought it was probably easier, then, to keep a distance. They had known his crimes then, and they had chosen to accept his distance. Now, though, something had changed. 

This version of themselves didn’t know.

That’s why they were so quick to see what good they could find in him. It was why they were relentlessly kind and were so free with their laughs and smiles around him.

If they knew, things would change.

The thought of confessing his past seemed impossible. Even if he wanted to, he wasn't sure he would be able to voice the atrocities. He had never said it out loud before, he didn't think he could. As much as he held himself accountable for the lives he had taken, forcing himself to carry the burden of his shackle and chains, there was still a disconnect from it.

If he were to say out loud, to them, that he...

Well, it would make it too real. 

So even if he wanted to, befriending them wasn’t going to happen. He wouldn’t let it.

Thurisaz, upright. That’s what had been shown to him in his dream all those days ago. To accept and understand the truth. He had embarked down that ill-conceived path, but now, too late, he was realizing it was a double-edged sword.

If he was to accept the truth of them, they would need to know his truth. 

He began to write. He started just with their name to address them before continuing the message. 

 

_I'm sorry._

_We can’t be friends._

_M_

 

He didn’t have a lot of room to write, so he had to keep the message short and direct.

The thought occurred to him, then, that he could simply take the myrrh back. Let them forget, save them the disappointment of rejection.

Asra would find out, though. He wouldn’t approve of this. He wanted Muriel and his apprentice to be close.

He had made leaps and bounds in his acceptance of the apprentice. When he looked at them, held their hand even, there was no denying that they were a real person. Not some construct or a byproduct of a necromantic experiment. They were a living, breathing person who was kind.

There was a slight burden, he found, that was taken off his shoulders. The unease had disappeared around the topic of the apprentice. He no longer felt fear at the idea of Asra growing overly attached to them.

The jealousy remained though. In fact, it seemed to grow, slightly, at the prospect that these two people would choose each other rather than him. 

Loneliness began to grip his heart at the thought. 

Wait… was he feeling jealousy towards Asra?

That was a first.

Muriel blinked down at his own letter.

That was indeed what he was feeling.

Muriel stood up with a great sigh, not even wanting to look at what he wrote. Instead, he took a spot beside Inanna who was peacefully resting by the open fire of the hearth.

She looked up at him as he lowered himself onto the ground beside her. She seemed to sense his glum mood and rested her head on his lap. Her golden gaze was steady as she assessed him.

He scratched between her ears, grateful for her presence.

This was all so much for him to handle, he felt like he was overwhelmed by every little thing that was going on. And here he had thought that the hermit life was supposed to be simple, carefree.

Even looking at Inanna, seeing the concern in her eyes, made him feel like he could burst into tears at any moment.

With a snort, she stood up to reposition herself. She circled a couple times before sitting down, leaning up against Muriel’s side before she lightly headbutted his cheek. She rubbed her coarse fur against his stubble and gave a small lick to his face.

It was rare that Inanna was so affectionate. Normally she minded her own business, demanding some pets now and again, but she was still a wild wolf.

Yet she still chose to be here every night, keeping him company.

He pulled her into a one-armed hug to his side, running fingers through her fur to give her some attention too.

They stayed like that for some time, just taking comfort in one another.

Here, relaxed and without any other company in his home, things didn’t seem so difficult anymore. If he didn’t want to, he didn’t have to worry about anything else other Inanna, the chickens, and then maybe himself. This was the life he had chosen for himself. He was no longer a victim of circumstance and he would never let himself be one ever again.

Sitting in front of the fire, petting through Inanna’s coarse fur, brought him back to a whisper of a memory. A hazy moment from a lifetime ago, barely surfacing in his mind even as he actively tried to dig it back up.

It brought with it the faintest sense of déjà vu.

He had been somewhere like this before. Not in his hut, somewhere else far away, but it too had felt like home.

His fingers had idly curled in rough brown fur, bear's fur, clinging to it and pulling it close. There was a presence beside him, not a bear herself, but she wore it. He had felt safe beside her. He somehow knew that, no matter what, she would protect him.

They sat and watched an open fire together. To his small stature, the wood seemed to be stacked impossibly high, the fire reaching up into the heavens. The flames seemed to dance in rhythm to the thrum of the earth under him, around him, all while casting a warm glow on his skin.

He remembered watching the sparks twinkle and fly up towards the sky when the wood crackled. Every so often, it would pop, and he would startle. Whenever he jumped, the fur seemed to close tighter around him, comforting him.

In that moment, so long ago, Muriel knew he had been loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I should have made the premise of this fic about memories and flashbacks bc there's way more of those than letters.... w/e  
> I'm so excited to start writing the next few chapters y'all, but my schedule looks like it'll pick up soon, so the updates are gonna start coming a bit slower soon, I doubt I'll be able to keep up the daily chapter updates once that all starts. I've got an internship in NYC so I gotta move to America for a bit and do that. I'll probably update once a week once that starts in a couple of weeks.  
> Thank you guys so much for sticking with me <3


	11. Signed, Sealed, Delivered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Muriel's a bad news bear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys!! We made it to the first page of highest kudos (for the apprentice/Muriel tags)!! Thank you all so, so much for your support (and kudos <3), it's so validating and makes writing/sharing this so much more enjoyable.

A early evening drizzle had left the cobblestone slick, forming puddles between the cracks. The lights of the street lanterns reflected off the street, dancing like wisps guiding him to his destination. 

It was as he approached the magic shop, having followed his familiar route over, that he began to realize how nervous he actually was.

He had built up the nerve to deliver his response to the apprentice, but as their shop was in sight, his his hands trembled at his sides.

To his relief, the lantern that hung above the door was out. There wouldn’t be any prospecting customers to bother him as he made his delivery. If the light was out, that might also mean they had been beckoned to palace again.

Maybe this would be easier than he thought.

He went around to do his usual check, as Asra had asked him to do so many times before. All the protection spells and wards were strong and none had been breached. Satisfied he went back around to the front to drop off the bundle by the front door.

His mistake, though, was not sticking to the shadows as he did.

As he walked over, the door suddenly flung open, and the apprentice stepped out, spotting him immediately.

“Muriel?” They nearly yelped, startled to see him.

They looked tired, eyes heavy and shadowed.

Caught, he didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t anticipated meeting them. He was just supposed to drop it off and put this whole situation behind him.

“I…” He fumbled, unable to string any sort of sentence together.

“Please, come in.” The apprentice lit up, then. They backed into their house, holding the door open.

“You were leaving.”

The apprentice had their coat on and had looked about ready to bolt out their door before they had spotted him.

“I felt like I was going crazy being alone in the shop, I was going to go to a tavern or something. I didn’t have a destination in mind, I just…” They sighed, “I just needed some company. But, if you’re here, please let me invite you in!” They motioned for him to come inside.

“You’d let me?” He remembered the last time he had gone into the cramped shop. The fragile bottles lined up the walls were no match for his awkward size.

“Of course! Please, I insist.”

They were acting a little strange, he noticed. There was a certain edge to their voice that hadn’t been there before. They sounded frazzled.

But there was a look in their eyes that seemed to beg him to join them. There was something they weren’t saying, but he could see that they were asking him to anchor them, much like they had done for him by taking his hand at the market.

He agreed, shuffling cautiously past them and being very careful to stay in the most open spot of the shop.

“Let’s go upstairs,” They gave a soft laugh at his struggle to remain as motionless as possible in the middle of the room.

He blinked at them.

“I’ve never been upstairs.” He felt his face heat slightly. That was their home. It’s where they and Asra lived.

“Oh, well then today’s your lucky day."

Muriel noticed that, since he had arrived, the tense line of their shoulders had relaxed considerably. The smiles they were giving him were becoming less forced.

They started up the narrow stairwell, looking back a few steps up to motion him to follow.

“But that’s your home.”

“Yeah, and I’m inviting you in.” They waved again to emphasize their point. “You let me into your hut.”

“As I remember it, you let yourself in.” To his surprise, he didn’t speak with any venom. In fact, his tone was dangerously close to playful.

What were they doing to him?

“Oh yeah, sorry about that.” They gave him a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of their head. “Let me make it up to you.”

It was a bit of effort to move his feet forward. All the alarm bells in his mind were going off that this was a very, very bad idea if he wanted to keep his distance.

His impulse, though, was that maybe he didn't want to keep his distance any more. 

There was something magnetic about the apprentice, drawing him in like he was a sailor and them, a siren at sea. 

Plans and self-preservation be damned. The apprentice invited him upstairs and he found himself squeezing through the stairwell, entranced into following them.

The upstairs loft was surprisingly spacious, compared to the material abundance that decorated the shop below. The walls had, without a doubt, been painted by Asra, the swirling colours being a signature of his eccentric friend. There was a pile of over-stuffed, plush pillows that rested in the corner opposite of a small kitchenette. Faust was hanging from the light fixture on the ceiling somehow, though he could see now way she could have possibly gotten up there herself.

His eyes drifted towards the wall opposite of him, where a drawn curtain exposed a large bed. The brightly coloured sheets were askew, as if hastily made without any real care. There was a crate beside the bed that was open, overflowing with about 10 more pillows of differing colours and sizes.

On the bed, there was currently only one.

He felt himself begin to blush at the intimacy of the whole situation. Here he was together, alone, with the apprentice and staring at their bed, considering the implications of there only being one in a house with two people.

Asra had always been a cuddler, even when he was young. He wasn’t affectionate to just anyone, but once he let someone into his heart, he may as well have had them sign their nights over to him. There would be no escaping his arms as they reached out in their sleep.

Muriel’s heart ached as he recalled the number of nights Asra had spent in his arms or vice versa. The two of them had never been very physical with their love for each other, but there was a safety and security that came with holding each other as they slept.

He shook his head, now was not the time to be digging this stuff up. He spotted a small stool over by the pillow pile and took a seat there.

“Tea?” they suggested once he had settled in.

It took a second, but he nodded.

“Alright, now,” they looked around, opening up drawers and poking around. “Where did that lil’ rascal go?”

Muriel watched as they scowled at the counter, that oddly domestic feeling he had gotten before at the hut coming back in full force.

It was then that he felt a tug on his pant leg. Startled, he looked down to see a fire salamander grasping on to the fabric, trying to climb up.

He reached down to help, picking the little thing up and set it on his knees. It wiggled its spotted body, seemingly out of excitement, as it directed its curious gaze at him.

“Oh, there you are!” The apprentice gave small laugh, “Cozying up to the new guest already? You suck-up.”

They gently scooped the little salamander up and brought it over to the woodstove, tickling its belly to get it to ignite it, before replacing it back on his knee.

Muriel was trying desperately not let himself linger on the feeling of their touch as their fingers brushed him as they deposited it. Instead, he focused on how cute the little amphibian was as it circled atop his knee, settling in for a nap.

“Careful, sometimes he shoots sparks when he snores. It might singe your clothes.” They lifted their sleeve, pointing at a couple unmistakable burn marks on it with a laugh.

“I don’t mind.” If anything, he was glad for the extra distraction.

The apprentice handed him his cup before settling into the throne of cushions.

“So,” They sounded like they were trying to choose their words carefully, “What brings you to my shop today? Would you like a reading?”

They were trying to keep their tone neutral, but he couldn’t help but notice the underlying hope.

He set his cup on the ground to reach into this pocket. He rummaged around, taking out his sticks so he could properly grab his delivery.

The apprentice eyed them curiously until he pulled out the string bag.

The pendant had fit in the bag they had brought the lemon drops in, so he thought it only appropriate to return it too.

Replacing his sticks, he reached out to hand it over to them. As he held it out, he noticed his hands were shaking again.

“I-” His voice caught, so he coughed to try and clear it, “I made you this.” He mumbled the words together so bad he wasn’t sure if the apprentice had caught what he said. He didn’t dare look as they opened the string to peer inside.

Their delighted gasp sent a warmth through him though.

Tentatively, he glanced over, only daring to watch out of the corner of their eye as they drew the pendant out. He had made a couple of last-minute additions to it. He tied it to a thin strip of soft leather, figuring they could wear it around their neck if they wanted, and imbued it with the most powerful protection ward he knew.

“Muriel…” their voice was so soft that his racing heart nearly drowned out the sound. They immediately placed it over their head, letting the wolf mask fall to their chest. “It’s perfect, you made this?”

He just blushed in response, feeling like he was going to start burning a hole in the rug with how intently he was staring at the spot on the ground.

“Thank you so much. You didn’t have to, but I love it.” They seemed completely in awe.

“I owed you.” He mumbling was apparently not going to stop any time soon.

“Owed me? For the gifts? Those were _gifts_ Muriel, I wanted you to have them, I wasn’t expecting anything back.”

“What about the candies?”

“I was trying to sweeten you up,” they said with a wink, “nothing more than a bribe.”

“Fine, then it’s also a gift.”

They positively beamed at him.

“There’s some pretty powerful magic in it too,” they realized.

“It’ll help keep you safe.”

With that, they went quiet. When Muriel finally looked directly at them, he noticed their eyes were a bit watery.

Oh no, did he say something wrong? He panicked, searching for something to say.

They gave a small sniff and blinked the developing tears away before they could spill over.

“Sorry, it’s…” They sighed, “there’s just a lot of stuff going on right now. This is was so unexpected and I love it so much that I’m getting a bit emotional.”

He just blinked at them, no idea how to respond.

“Oh, there’s more.” They said as they peered into the bag again, carefully drawing out the folded birch bark.

He looked away. Admittedly, he was a little ashamed. He hadn’t expected to be here when they read his letter back to them. It seemed much easier to completely detach himself from the situation. He didn’t want to consider how hard this response might be for them, especially with the reaction to his gift. He squirmed in his seat as they read.

It only took a second for them to glance over his brief message, before their hands slowly dropped to settle in their lap. Just slightly, their head drooped.

They didn’t say anything for a while.

Muriel felt horribly guilty. He had to cling to the reminder that they wouldn't be this disappointed if they actually knew who he was. They would probably be relieved that he was rejecting his offer if they did.

This version of them still didn’t know the blood on his hands. That was the only reason they were pursuing his friendship in the first place. They had thought he was a ‘truly good person,’ as they had put it.

And that simply wasn’t the case.

This was the right decision, there was no getting around that. He did what he had to do, and now, it was time to move on, no matter how much it made his heart ache. 


	12. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the apprentice tries to debate with a brick wall.

“Okay.” They said eventually, “I respect your choice.”

That wasn’t what he had expected to hear.

There was a small pang at his heart at their acceptance. It solidified the reality of his choice, no going back now.

He nodded at the carpet.

“Is…” They bit their lip, “does it have anything to do with who I was, you know, before?”

Muriel immediately shook his head no. Their voice had sounded so small, almost scared.

“It’s because of who I was before.” He managed to get out. He began fidgeting his hands in his lap, staring down intently at them.

“What?”

“You’re wrong about me. You shouldn’t be friends with someone like me, so stop trying to be.”

The corner of their lips tugged down into a frown. Unable to catch his attention from where they sat, they moved to sit on their knees in front of him, staying where he couldn’t avoid looking at them. 

“I trust Asra.” They said simply, knowing exactly what to say to get his attention.

He paused, tentatively meeting their gaze.

“Asra loves you, Muriel. He loves you so much that I can’t even begin to wrap my head around it. He’s never spoken an ill word of you.” They reach out their hand, the same way they did that day in the alley beside Red Street, indicating to where he nervously lacing and unlacing his fingers together. “ And you and I both know that Asra isn’t one to give out his heart to just anyone. If he says you’re a good person, then it’s the truth.”

He was stunned. He hadn't prepared for this. He didn't even expect to be here when they read the note, let alone have a discussion about it.

“Asra forgave me because he thought he had to.” He could barely force the words past his lips. They cut deep.

The apprentice shook their head. “Asra doesn’t do anything unless he means it. If the issue is that I don’t remember you, then would you help me remember?”

This was a bad idea. The whole situation was bad overall. Asra had told Muriel before how hard it was keeping secrets from the apprentice, but too much information about the past and their mind would shut down.

Muriel was walking a very precarious line here.

“I don’t want to.” He lied.

“Oh…” their face fell again. Their dejected look made Muriel feel horrible, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He needed to cut them off here and now. It was his only chance to before things got too far out of control.

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” through the rejection on their face, there shined a glimmer of hope, “how about this.”

They offered their hand again, and Muriel couldn’t help himself, he had to take it. They held one of his hands in both of theirs, cradling it like it was something precious.

“If your concern is the past, and I have no memories of the past, then why don’t we start fresh?”

What were they talking about? His confusion must have been obvious because they rushed to explain.

“Hear me out. This is an opportunity, for both of us. I don’t remember who I was before three years ago. Most likely, I’ll never be that person again, they might as well be dead.”

Muriel winced, but they continued.

“This is the new me. I’ve gotten a second chance, an opportunity to start fresh and be the best person I can be.” As they said this, they took one of their hands away from Muriel to pulled out a familiar deck of cards from their pocket. Rifling through, they pulled out the one they were looking for.

It was The Fool, card zero.

Muriel knew a little bit about the major arcana from Asra. The Fool represented innocence, a free spirit set out to wander and explore the world before them.

They held the card upright in front of him.

“New beginnings.” They said, determined. “This can be your fresh start too.” They placed the card in his hand. “Your curse– “

“It’s not a curse.”

“Fine, your permanent spell has erased you from the minds of the public. There are literally only two people in the world who know you. Asra's forgiven you and I've forgotten. Is there anyone else that matters?”

Muriel was silent. There was no way he could admit the number of souls who were robbed of life by his hand. They mattered.

He shook his head, unwilling to let the conversation continue.

He swiveled the card around in his hand, having it upright from their point of view. 

“You get your clean slate. You can start fresh, but the card is reversed for me.”

The apprentice gave him a small smile, “That still means there’s a new beginning waiting for you too, it just shows that you’re hesitant to take it. In fact, sometimes it can be interpreted as an indication you're on the wrong track. Maybe even irrational thought.”

Muriel sighed, this wasn’t getting him anywhere.

“Please stop.”

The apprentice opened their mouth to argue this, to keep trying to fight against his stubbornness, but they must have caught the distress on his face. 

They looked reluctant to let this go, but eventually they gave in. They nodded.

“Okay. I’m sorry I pushed you, I just… I really wish we could have made this work.” They stood back up, taking back The Fool from him. “Know that this doesn’t mean my offer if off the table. If you ever change your mind, I’ll be right here.”

They smiled at him a moment, before something else flashed over their face.

“Actually, maybe not right here.” They frowned, turning away from him. “But you get my point,” they waved.

Muriel was glad for the change of pace, but there was something else bothering them now.

 

 

They had walked back to the kitchenette, unwrapping a loaf that Muriel recognized as being from Asra's favourite baker. The smell of cinnamon wafted in the air. They cut off two pieces and handed one to him.

He nibbled cautiously on the slice he had been given. He was admittedly uncomfortable. He felt like he should have left by now. What more was there to say? He had refused their offer and they had finally accepted his response.

The loaf was very nice, though.

“Can I ask you something?”

Muriel froze, stopping mid-chew.

“Not as a potential friend." They assured, "As a fellow diviner.”

Muriel’s divination ability didn’t hold a candle to either Asra’s or the apprentice's. What could they possibly want to ask him?

“The cards have been frustrating lately, to say the least.” They admitted, taking up their seat back in the cushions. “If they even answer, they’re either incredibly vague or completely contradictory. I was wondering, would mind casting your runes for me?”

This was a first. He had never done a rune casting for someone else, let alone outside of the forest. He drew on the old energies of it to help his divination.

“Why?”

“I need answers.” They gave a deep sigh, sinking further into the pillows as they bit into their loaf. “I’ve got an… upcoming project for the Countess and I need advice.”

He reached into his pocket, taking the sticks out to show them.

“I can’t cast here,” he admitted, “But the process is similar to reading the cards.”

He handed them over, watching as the apprentice inspected them each, looking closely at the runes carved on them.

“Use your magic through you like you would if you were searching for the voice in the cards. Drop the sticks and I can interpret for you.”

“Okay,” they said hesitantly, taking a deep breath.

Muriel felt the air around them begin give that telltale hum, crackling with that power so unique to them. They struggled to fit all the sticks in one hand but managed it, holding the handful out and squeezing their eyes shut before dropping them.

Once they clattered to the ground, they bent forward to inspect them all, curiosity piqued.

Muriel gently relocated the fire salamander to his shoulder before he stood up and shuffled around to view the runes from the apprentice’s perspective. He pointed to the upward-facing sticks to describe them.

“Fehu, reversed. Disappointment and frustration.”

The apprentice gave him a sidelong glance. He winced.

“Raidho, upright. There’s a journey ahead.”

He paused, looking at the next overturned rune with brows furrowed.

“Something bad?” They whispered.

“Hagalaz,” he nodded, “it’s… not good. It means destructive forces are ahead.”

The apprentice clutched at the pendant he gave them.

“Berkana, upright.” He continued, “This one is a warning. Be cautious in your actions, be prepared for whatever may come. The last one here is better. This one is Eihwaz. It a reassurance. It means you’re doing the right thing, and that you can endure and persevere.”

They gave a deep sigh, nodding.

“That was much clearer than anything the Arcana gave me.” With that, a small smile came to their face, “Thank you, Muriel, for everything.”

He stayed quiet as he carefully returned the sticks to his pocket before he retook his place on the small stool, willing the fluttering feeling in his heart away. He mulled over the implications but couldn’t bring himself to ask what could possibly merit such grim reading.

“Are… are you going to be safe?” His voice sounded small to his own ears.

“I don’t know.” They admitted, shaking their head slightly as they seemed to stare off into the distance. “I’ll be cautious, like the runes advised. But at least now I know I’m doing the right thing.”

Muriel was beginning to get concerned at how wistful they sounded.

“Besides,” they continued, holding up their new pendant, “I’ve got your protection.”

“I’m not that strong.”

Their eyebrows shot up, looking pointedly at his broad chest before looking back up at him.

“You know what I mean,” he mumbled, feeling bashful under the sudden scrutiny. “My wards aren’t strong enough for ‘destructive forces’.”

“Muriel, you’ve done plenty, don’t go kicking yourself because I accepted a dangerous mission. That was my choice.”

“But you should be safe.”

“I feel like that would have more weight behind it if you were my friend.”

He sighed.

“I don’t have to be your friend to know that you shouldn’t run towards dangerous things.”

“You read the runes, I’m doing the right thing. It’s what I have to do, this is the new beginning I choose.”

“Not much of a new you.” He grumbled, a flash of irritation rising in him.

“What do you mean?”

“Before. You’d run directly into danger doing the ‘right thing’ and you got yourself–“ he stopped himself before he could reveal too much. Shaking his head, he corrected himself. “You would cause trouble or get yourself hurt, then everyone you left behind had to deal with the consequences.”

He was rambling, and he knew it. He couldn’t stop the sour mood that came with the thought of them going off on another ill-conceived suicide mission, especially after what Asra had gone through.

Even the way they declared their new mission sounded exactly like when they told Asra they were staying in Vesuvia to combat the plague. 

They stared at him blankly.

Ah, shit. He must have revealed too much. He was on the verge of panic that they were catatonic until they finally blinked a couple of times.

“I… I did something like this before?” They whispered.

He let out a breath of relief. At least they hadn’t passed out.

“I’ve seen it happen a few times. You’ve always acted too benevolent, looking out for others so much that you'd sacrifice yourself.” Literally, he added mentally.

“Always?" They repeated, giving him a confused look, "Muriel, how long have we known each other?”

Uh oh. Was this even a question he should answer?

Was he even capable of refusing those hopeful eyes of theirs?

“Asra introduced us about a week after he met you.”

“When did I first meet Asra?” They sounded a bit frustrated, like this was a question that was often left unanswered.

Asra hadn’t told them. So, should he? Was that dangerous territory to approach?

“Uh…” he found himself stalling, unable to decide whether to answer or not.

The apprentice looked at him with such eagerness. He guessed it was a rare occasion they got to hear anything from their past.

He was reminded of a young Inanna, just a pup, staring up at him with those wide golden eyes when he held a plate of his own food. She’d paw at his leg to catch his attention and gave him the cutest expression she could manage.

He always ended up giving the food to her.

“Almost ten years.”

“Ten?!” They jumped up from their seat, nearly scaring him off his own. The fire salamander woke with a start and spit a few sparks down onto his pants, which he quickly patted out before they could burn through.

The apprentice paced across the room. As they did, Faust slid further down the ceiling light, reaching for them. They collected the snake and draped her over their shoulders without losing the intense look on their face.

“Not ten yet.” He mumbled, fully realizing that his lack of resistance to puppy-dog eyes might have just gotten him into a bit of trouble.

They stared at him incredulously.

“Muriel, I’ve known you’ve existed for less than a month, and now you’re telling me we’ve actually known each other for nearly a decade?!” They didn’t sound angry. Rather, they were lost in the revelation.

If he could sink down into the floor, he would have. He didn’t want to be here anymore.

“Why didn’t Asra tell me?” They wondered out loud, the frustration rising again.

“Don’t blame him.” He was stern at that, “He has his reasons.”

“He–” They turned to dispute him but then stopped themselves. “Sorry, I should argue with you. You’ve told me more about my past than Asra ever has and for that I can’t thank you enough, my not-friend.”

He picked up the salamander and set it gently on the ground before he stood to take his leave. First, though, he picked up the apprentice’s empty cup along with his own and washed them out at the sink.

“Here.” They jumped over to the kitchenette, wrapping a couple more slices of the sweet loaf, as he dried his hands. They insisted he take some home with him, along with a strip of dried meat for Inanna.

“Stop giving me stuff.” He said, trying to refuse.

They just shoved the stuff back in his arms, “You’ll be doing me an incredible favour by taking part of this loaf off my hands, there’s no way I’m gonna finish it and it would be such a shame for it to go to waste. And that,” they pointed at the meat, “isn’t for you, it’s for Inanna. So if she’s got a problem with getting gifts too, tell her she can take it up with me.”

The apprentice laughed lightly, seeming more cheerful as they made him take the stuff.

“Besides, I run a business on divination, I need to pay you for the reading.”

 Once he managed to make it down the stairwell and to the entrance without incident, the apprentice opened the door for him.

“Muriel, thanks again. I’m sorry we can’t be friends yet, but even just keeping me company now was an incredible favour you did me” Their smile was genuine as they looked down and admired their pendant again. “For everything, thank you.” 

Muriel didn’t know what to say, he just kind of awkwardly shuffled out the door. He intended to go straight home from there, but he found himself pausing.

He turned around, already a few steps outside but the apprentice was leaning against the frame, watching him leave.

“Stay safe out there.” He said, remembering their concern for him in that first letter they wrote.

They gave a solemn smile and a slow nod.

“You too, Muriel.” They said and he turned to continue his journey home.

He heard them speak quietly to Faust as he left. 

“Wow, almost ten years, huh?”

Then the door creaked shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mountain man, take me to the hand, lead me to the land, that you understand  
>   
> Also, I keep getting sidetracked with planning further down the story and writing little scenes that I have no idea if I'll ever be able to fit in this fic. Maybe I'll compile them in a little partner fic after this is all done, hmmmm


	13. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honey, I'm hoooooome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I finished the first draft of this chapter I was like "woahhh tone it down, edgelord." There still a decent amount of angst but trust me it was way better than before lmao
> 
> Also I really needed Muriel to have a little bit of affection, I feel bad for what I'm putting him through :^(

The forest was quiet, the wildlife had hardly woken yet at the early hour.

Frost dusted the grass beneath Muriel’s shoes, leaving light footprints in his wake.

Muriel took a seat on his chopping block, a broad stump that was rooted in the earth just a few steps away from the hut. He had woken up ungodly early that morning. Since his visit to the magic shop, he hadn’t been sleeping well.

The apprentice had left him alone since. There hadn’t been any more letters or unexpected visits, but that didn’t stop him from poking around every time he came back, just to make sure there was no purple envelope anywhere around the door.

He took a deep breath of the chilly air, watching it fog out as he exhaled. He needed to stop thinking of them. He had chosen this path and he was going to commit to it, he was going to keep his distance.

It was hard though. He tried not to let himself worry about their upcoming mission. The fact that they were willfully embarking on yet another dangerous journey.

Can’t learn from your mistakes if you can’t remember them, he supposed.

That wasn’t the only thing though. Every so often some mundane little thing would bring him back to the magic shop or the market. A glimmer of a stone in the creek would remind him of their eyes, shinning with their own playful glint. The softness of the scarf he wore brought back the feeling of their hand, and the way they smiled at him with such delight at showering him with these gifts. Even looking at Inanna reminded him of the wolf mask he had carved, and how they had teared up when he gave it to them.

They had said they loved the gift. They loved something he made for him, and that was enough to bring back a blush in full force.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. This was exactly what he was trying to avoid.

The apprentice had spoken of fresh starts, and how this could be an opportunity for him too.

He wasn’t about to let them in on his whole life story. There was no amount of preparing he could do to be able to admit what he had done.

He guessed the fresh start he needed was, in fact, from them.

There was a light chirp up above. Looking up, he saw a small songbird perched on an empty branch. It preened its feathers, preparing itself for the day. Satisfied, it began whistling its wake-up call to the forest below.  

He listened to its song, closing his eyes and focusing on that to distract him from any unwanted thoughts.

As he followed the little bird’s tune, he noticed it was starting to change. It grew louder and somehow began forming a familiar melody.

It was a song that Muriel recognized: one from the musician down by the docks.

Muriel’s eyes flashed open in time to see the bird fly away. The song, however, continued.

He looked around quickly and there was a figure just down the path from his hut. In the dark, it was nothing more than a silhouette, but there was an unmistakable cut to the feathered hat the traveller wore.

He was on his feet before he even fully processed what he saw.

The whistled tune stopped as Asra came close enough for Muriel to see the smile on his friend’s face.

He wasn’t sure what came over him in that moment. Since he had last saw Asra, things had gotten out of control. He was weak with the stress of it all, and just needed something to hold on to.

So, Muriel rushed to him and clutched the magician in his arms.

Asra laughed brightly, surprised at the uncharacteristic display of affection as he was all but lifted off the ground. Muriel could have cried with relief at hearing the sound again.

“Hey big guy.” He said softly, wrapping his arms as far around Muriel as he could, “I missed you too.”

In all the time they had known each other, Muriel didn’t think he had ever initiated a hug before. Asra didn’t seem to mind, he was snuggling into his chest.

He was trembling, he was so overcome with relief and joy at Asra being back safe and his eyes still white. The idea that his friend had been off chasing the plague of all things had not helped his nerves.

Asra just whispered comforts to him, rubbing his back until he was able to compose himself.

Eventually, he let Asra go, taking a step back, a little embarrassed at his reaction. He didn’t regret it though.

Asra just laughed, those wonderful dimples showing on his cheeks, and stepped forward, closing the distance between them again. He reached up and cupped Muriel’s face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs against the stubble.

Muriel’s eyes drifted shut, his heart overwhelmed at the presence of his wandering friend.

“Happy belated birthday,” He said as he stood up on the tips of his toes and brought Muriel’s face down to meet his.

The kiss was nothing more than a chaste peck, but the sweetness of it melted all of Muriel's worries away.

“Since when do you accessorize?” He tugged on the scarf around his neck.

Muriel admitted that the apprentice got it for him, that damned blush rising back on his face.

“It seems like you've gotten yourself a new admirer since I’ve been gone.” Asra mused, giving him another quick kiss before separating.

Muriel stood there dazed and almost dizzy for a few moments to collect himself.  He just gave a short huff, not trusting himself to produce anything close to words.

Asra hummed, a mischievous grin widening. He took Muriel’s hand and led him inside.

 

 

Asra spotted the still-wrapped gift on the shelf right away. He grabbed it and set it on the table, sitting down and giving him an expectant smile.

“I’d give you the glitter show but it seems someone beat me to it.” He eyed the sparkles that still clung to the pelt.

Muriel sat down with him, taking the box and opening into it. In it rested a small bouquet of dried, pressed forget-me-nots.

“I found them when I went to check on the southern border earlier this year.”

Muriel just stared at them. The petals had been meticulously spread to press them perfectly open. The vibrant blues, purples, and yellows somehow not dulled during the drying. They were beautiful.

Asra came up beside him and pressed a quick kiss to Muriel’s cheek.

A warmth rested itself in Muriel’s heart. Things were back into routine, and the flowers were perfect.

“This is for you too, apparently.” He slid a purple envelope across the table to him.

Muriel's eyes widened at the sight. Admittedly, he had completely forgotten about them since Asra had been back, and he supposed that that was a good thing. So, he turned his attention back to his friend. 

“I was surprised, at first,” he said as he walked over to plop down on Muriel’s bed, “when they asked me about you. I hadn’t expected you to give them the myrrh, but I can’t say I blame you,” he winked, “They’re so delightfully charming to have around.”

Muriel felt his face reddening again.

“It would've been annoying to keep explaining myself.”

“Mmhmm.” Asra didn’t look convinced. Rather, he seemed quite delighted at the blush on his face. “Well, I got back last night and saw they had a pretty new necklace. The handiwork was unmistakable. I suppose that was also to alleviate some annoyance too, hmm?”

“They bought me things. I owed them.”

“Sure, sure.” He nodded but that smug look didn’t leave his face. “They were asking about you, you know. They seem quite  _interested_  in you.”

Muriel raised a brow, trying to ignore the way his friend had nearly purred that last bit.

“They were particularly interested in your past. Maybe they were looking for the secret to your workout routine.” he laughed, giving a demonstrative flex of his own arm, “They might be trying to get absolutely jacked too.”

Oh, so now they were trying to get information from Asra. He wondered, though, if his friend would be more lenient to admit his past to make up for the fact he couldn't tell them theirs?

“What did you tell them?”

“Barely anything,” he sighed, looking suddenly dampened. “I just get so worried about saying anything. If it happens again, there’s no guarantee they’ll wake up next time.”

“I told them a couple things.” He admitted. “Just how long they’ve known us and that they had been a compassionate person before.”

Asra stared at him wide-eyed.

“I-” He lifted his hat off to run a hand through his fluffy hair. “Muriel, I told them how long we’d known each other before and they got a huge headache. I had to erase their memory before they went out. That wasn't that long ago.”

Muriel paused.

“What does this mean?”

Asra looked like he was thinking over hundreds of possibilities at once. His brows furrowed in concentration and he was quiet for a while.

“I think this means they’re getting better.” Asra sucked in a breath, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, “Muriel, they'll be able to remember everything someday, sooner than we ever thought!”

Muriel flinched.

So someday they would remember.

They’d remember him standing in the dusty ring of the Coliseum, bloodied weapons in his hands as Vesuvia booed their villain.

When Muriel looked back up at Asra, he had expected something hopeful or joyous, not the crestfallen expression that had settled on his friend’s face as he let out a shaky sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

“I'm just... I’m really worried about them.”

Normally, Muriel would have felt irritated at how Asra kept bring up his apprentice, but there was something in his tone that was deeply concerning.

“They’re going off on some other dangerous journey.” Muriel sighed, understanding.

“You knew?”

“They asked to cast the runes, their outcome was kind of bleak.”

“Did they tell you where they were going?”

Muriel shook his head no.

“The Southlands.” Asra’s gaze darkened. “The leader of one of the war tribes there requested an audience from the Palace. Nadia got the letter and decided to send them with only two palace guards for protection. Apparently, the guard is stretched thin enough as it is, they can only spare the two.” He shook his head in disbelief. “As well trained as they might be, Nadia is severely underestimating the level of danger.”

Muriel couldn’t talk. He couldn’t even move.

The apprentice was travelling south? With a couple of those dolls the Palace called guards?

They were going to die.

Again.

Muriel remembered the warning the runes had given. Destructive forces. He had thought of that as some kind of natural disaster, a bad storm or something.

Not the apprentice walking, essentially unprotected, directly into a war tribe.

His hands shook. He couldn’t tell if he was angry, upset, or terrified. Maybe all three.

He grabbed the letter, ripping it open to read.

 

_Dear Muriel,_

_I thought about what you said, but I just can’t bring myself to refuse this mission. It’s the right thing to do, and that's all that matters to me._

_I guess that means neither of us really get our new beginning.  We’re both stuck being the people we were._

_I still have faith that we can grow, but now is not that time._

_I’m going south. I’ve been summoned to attend to the leader of the_ Scourge of the South _. She claims to have information on Count Lucio and even the origin of the plague. If I can successfully bring that information back to Vesuvia, this can all be ended once and for all._

_This mission is top secret, so I’m the only one who can go. There’s suspicion at the Palace of saboteurs, the Countess and I can only share this with the people we trust most._

_I can no longer afford to be subtle. I trust you Muriel, I want you to know that. In fact, I care about you. More than I ever expected to._

_Even though you don't want me to, I can’t stop myself._

_I’ve prepared, like the runes advised. I’ve arranged all matters with my shop and my belongings in case anything should happen. If there’s one thing I can change, it’s that nobody is left with the consequences of my actions._

_This choice is my own._

_Yours Truly,_

 

He felt like he had to mentally will his heart to keep beating. That hadn't been what he meant by consequences. Did they not realize how important they were to Asra? 

 _To him?_  that small voice in him echoed. 

“Are you going with them?” He asked, barely more than a whisper. He was torn at the thought. He wasn't sure what was worse, Asra following the apprentice into danger or Asra losing them.

Asra gave a troubled sigh.

“I would only make things worse. I’ve been very clearly warned that if I ever step foot in the Southlands I’ll be tracked down and 'taken care of.'”

Muriel recoiled at the thought. He remembered Asra telling him about an altercation he had had with some druids in the Southlands once before. Muriel had gotten upset at him for going into that territory alone, Asra had barely escaped with his life.

“When I got your gift, I had gone back to the border to check, and sure enough, they set up magical alert systems all over it. I wouldn’t make it 10 steps over without them knowing. I would bring them directly to us.”

Asra had all but crumpled in front of him. It was hard to imagine that his friend had been laughing and teasing him just minutes earlier. 

Muriel suddenly recalled his dream. The rushing hoard of red beetles carving a path of death and destruction as they charged south. Towards the sound of a heartbeat. 

“Muriel…” Asra’s voice broke as he spoke. “Muriel, you know I would never…”

Muriel hadn’t heard him like this since, well, the apprentice did something like this before. There was a certain discomfort to his tone though, like there was something he knew he had to say but couldn’t bring himself to.

He spoke like how he did when he asked Muriel to keep an eye on the apprentice during the plague.

Muriel could see where this is going. The corners of his lips turned down.

So that’s why he finally decided to visit.

“You want me to go with them. You want me to go back there.” He put simply. His tone left no question, he knew it was his impulsive tendancies, but he wanted Asra to fully admit to him what he was asking for.

Asra bit his lip and gave a shameful nod.

“If it wasn’t the only option, you know I wouldn’t be asking you.” There were tears in his eyes as he spoke. “I can’t lose them again.”

The venom of jealousy rose in his throat, coming back in such surprising force that he wanted to spit on the ground. Asra was choosing their safety over his own.

He was more conflicted than he had ever been, but there really was only one option. Not in the way Asra meant though.

If he did anything other than go with the apprentice and bring them back alive, he would likely lose the only friendship he had.

 

He loved Asra, and a part of loving Asra also meant making sure he could be happy. That wasn’t possible without the apprentice.

He stood up and wordlessly gathered any supplies he had that he could use for the journey ahead.

 

 

There is something to be said about suddenly finding yourself in turmoil. It can be disorienting, but then the survival instincts kick in. Muriel's mind sharpened, his resolve hardened, and he finally got his act together. 

He had spent the last couple days moping around the hut when he knew the apprentice was going to be putting themselves in danger for the good of Vesuvia. 

As much as Muriel tried removing himself from the city, he still couldn't imagine abandoning them to another plague. They had despised him, cheered at his pain, and their bloodlust was what landed him in the Coliseum in the first place. And yet, he knew he couldn't just stand by while that horrible illness took its hold again.

He didn't want to admit it, but he knew since he heard the news that he needed to go with them. He had been stalling, trying to avoid the inevitable. A conversation that felt like it happened ages ago resurfaced in his memory.

 _"I can be your bodyguard."_ They had told him.

 

Though it was mostly in secret, Muriel was the actual bodyguard. He checked up on them often to made sure they were safe. That was mostly for Asra's sake, but now there was no denying the fear that gripped his heart at the thought of the apprentice getting hurt.  

Now, he knew that they were walking right into the Scourge of the South, a tribe he had encountered once before and, with some cruel irony, had been the name Lucio imposed on him. They were a war tribe through and through, they celebrated the blood they spilled. 

Muriel tended to be a man of inaction, but even he knew there was no way he was going to be able to stop himself from running off after them. 

 

 

 

When he was ready, he stood before where his friend sat slouched on the bed.

He tried to commit the image of him to memory. This is who he was doing this for. This sadness is what would happen if the apprentice was lost again, and he would not let that happen.

Asra looked up at him, eyes glistening with the overflowing tears.

“I love you Muriel.”

His throat felt like it had completely closed. Instead of saying anything, he leaned down, pressing his lips to Asra’s forehead.

“Please forgive me.” Asra grabbed his hands, holding them close to his chest.

“I don’t blame you.” He said simply, reaching up and wiping a tear from his friend's cheek. The call to action had completely dissolved the bitterness he had felt earlier. He wasn't about to leave Asra like this, guilt-ridden and worried sick. 

Asra brought the hand on his cheek to his lips, pressing a kiss to the backs of his fingers.

"I'll look after the hut."

Muriel shrugged. 

"Don't let it burn down. Or do. I don't care."

Asra gave a small laugh, grateful for a moment of Muriel's dry humour. He stood up and wrapped him in a hug. 

"Come back safe." 

Muriel took a second to breathe, just letting himself enjoy the embrace while it lasted. 

Eventually, Muriel had to peel himself away from his arms, giving him a small nod goodbye. With that, he turned and walked out of the hut, shutting the door behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I just realized that Muriel is Moomin and Asra is Snufkin. I just needed someone to give this poor man some love, even if it's before some significant disappointment. 
> 
> Also, I keep getting sidetracked with planning further down the story and writing little scenes that I have no idea if I'll ever be able to fit in this fic. Maybe I'll compile them in a little partner fic after this is all done, hmmmm


	14. Last Minute Addition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part of writing this chapter was remembering how to spell names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *AC/DC voice* It's a long way, to the south, if you wanna stop the plague 🎵

Muriel went right to the shop. He practically ran most of the way, the anxiety of the journey ahead urging him forward until he found himself sprinting past the trees into the streets of Vesuvia.

His mind was racing, considering the implications of his hasty, impulsive decision far too late.

He was going to leave Vesuvia behind and travel to the Southlands. The place he hadn’t been since he was sent off as a child.

He didn’t have many memories of the south, he was too young to remember it clearly. He remembered the fear, though. Being so young and alone, suddenly separated from his family and sent off to wander on his own. He didn’t even remember who his family was, all he knew was that he had one at one point. One moment, he was happy and safe. The next he was alone. Cold, hungry, and scared, he had somehow made it to the docks of Vesuvia, like most orphaned children did.

When he finally got to magic shop, he found it empty. He had a moment of panic, was he too late?

He turned on his heel and eventually made it to the gates of the Palace.

He was so driven and tunnel-visioned on the task at hand that he hadn’t really thought about what he was supposed to do once he got there.

He slowed down to a walk as he approached, not wanting to spook the guards. There were two standing on duty at the entrance.

Muriel tried to think of any way he could get in. There was no way he would be allowed to just walk in. He couldn’t even ask one of the guards to go ask the apprentice, the guard would forget what they were doing before they even reached the Palace. This was the most secure place in Vesuvia, there wasn’t any way he could sneak in.

As his mind raced, he spotted a horse-drawn carriage coming around down the path towards the gates. It was relatively plain by Palace standards, but still ornamented to the point it was unmistakably Vesuvian. It was pulled by two large horses, ones that didn’t have the same glam or physique that the high society members rode. They were bulky and strong, looking more like they belonged on a farm than in the palace stables.

Two people sat on the coach box, one was dressed like a guard and held the reins to the horses as they were guided down the path towards the gate. To his relief, Muriel recognized the other person as the apprentice.

The guards at the gate were eyeing him cautiously before they decided he wasn’t a threat. They opened the gates for the carriage to pass through, giving a nod at the driver, before hurriedly shutting the gates behind them.

“Muriel?” The apprentice called out once they spotted him, jumping to their feet.

He stayed where he was, blocking the path of the carriage.

“Muriel, what are you doing here?” They said, stepping down from the box seat and lowering themselves to the ground. They were visibly shocked as they walked up to him, giving him a once-over like they couldn’t actually believe he was there.

“I’m coming with you.”

They stared, stunned.

“I-” There was a flash of something Muriel couldn’t place in their eyes, before they squeezed them shut, firmly shaking their head. “No. Muriel, this is my duty, I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger for my sake.

“You’re meeting with the leader of the most dangerous tribe in all of the Southlands, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” His voice was gruff, his rising frustration showing.

“Wait, you know them?”

“Unfortunately.” he grumbled, “And I can’t let you go alone.”

“What if you get hurt?”

“What if you?” He glowered, straightening his posture. “I’ll be your… bodyguard.”

“Muriel…” They seemed conflicted.

“What’s the hold up?” Called someone else. Muriel looked over to see a Palace guard poking her head out from the carriage.

“I dunno, some big guy is saying he wants to come with us,” the one with the reins said.

“Are we even allowed to take people on? I thought this whole thing was kind of…” she placed a finger over her lips.

“He’s a frie- I mean, he’s in on it.” The apprentice told them before turning back to him. “Muriel, I would never ask you to do this for me.”

“I’m not doing it for you.” While he had thought it true, as he said it, he felt a strange twinge of doubt.

“Oh…” They looked down at the ground, biting their lip as they thought.

“If he’s offering to help, I say we take it,” called the one of the guards. “I hear those war tribes are brutal, I’ll take all the help we can get.”

“Agreed, what do you say, boss?”

The apprentice deliberated. They were shaking their head slightly, but eventually took a deep breath.

“Muriel, are you sure about this?”

He nodded.

“You’re coming back safe.” He was sure of it, there was no other option.

“Only if you do too.” They sighed, looking up at him with a solemn sort of gratitude.

He ignored that last bit, instead walking over to the carriage. The guard in it gestured him in through the entrance, but he just kept walking around to the back, taking a rear-facing seat.

The apprentice didn’t follow him. Instead, they sent for an extra ration of supplies be brought to them immediately.

Eventually, the carriage was on it’s way south, Muriel sitting on the back, watching the Palace shrink into the distance.

 

 

The ride itself was relatively smooth as they continued towards the southern border. Muriel knew, though, it would get progressively worse the further south they went. Both in terms of safety and the roughness of the roads.

He sat back, leaning against the carved wood of the carriage. Even though he was alone on this side, he could still hear the chatter of the three other passengers.

The apprentice and the guard who was coaching, Muriel heard his name was Ludovico, chatted idly. They talked of mundane things like Palace life, pretending like they weren’t riding directly into a death sentence.

Muriel found himself shaking his head at the absurdity of it all.

What had he gotten himself into?

“So, are the rumours true?” Ludovico asked, his voice drifting around the cart.

“What rumours? That Consul Valerius was sleeping with the Count? I heard that one from Portia, she seemed to think it was true.”

Ludovico laughed, a broken, hiccup-y sound.

“You’re bold, boss. I wouldn’t dare speak of anything like that until we’re well out of earshot of Vesuvia.”

“I didn’t think it was _that_ big of a deal.”

“It isn’t really, they weren’t overly private about the whole affair.”

“Or quiet!” the other guard called out from inside the carriage, causing an uproar of laughter from the three of them.

“Yeah, Bludmila and I had the misfortune of being assigned night duty in Count Lucio’s wing.”

The apprentice gave an audible grimace.

“As public as the knowledge might have been, the Consul isn’t fond of people bringing it up.”

“Oh, okay. So what rumours were you talking about then?”

“Your relationship with the magician.”

Muriel nearly choked.

“Yeah,” the guard he assumed was Bludmila said, “it’s been a pretty hot topic of debate at the Palace ever since you started working with the Countess. Some people think you guys are friends or some sort of distant relatives. Other people think you two are partners in more than just the business sense, if you catch my drift.”

“Oh!” they gave a bit of a nervous laugh, “well I don’t know about all that. Asra and I definitely aren’t related, we’re old friends apparently.”

“Apparently? Oh, that’s right, the amnesia stuff.”

“Yeah. I mean, we live together. It’s pretty domestic between us.”

That launched the two guards into a barrage of questions, trying to press for more details but the apprentice seemed just as confused as they were on how to label their relationship with Asra.

Muriel didn’t want to hear it. He was already feeling a bit sick from the movement of the carriage. This was his first time travelling on anything other than foot and he was definitely not comfortable with it. The last thing he needed right now was details on Asra’s and their relationship.

“So, does that mean you’re single, looking for a relationship, or anything? ‘Cause I can count at least seven staff members at the Palace who you’ve enamoured, they’d love the opportunity to court you.”

“I think the Countess would get first dibs on courtship.” Bludmila laughed, “I haven’t seen her smile or laugh as much as she has been since you came to the Palace.”

“Seems like you’re leaving a trail of broken hearts behind you.”

The apprentice just laughed off their questions, not really answering any of them directly.

The ride continued like that until the evening. Sporadic conversation from the three upfront and Muriel trying his best to settle his stomach as he watched the cityscape gradually disappear over the horizon.

They had made surprising ground in the first day. Then again, Muriel couldn’t imagine he would be a great judge of horse travel times. He had always worried that if he tried to ride one, he’d hurt the poor thing.

The sun was dipping down and staining the sky orange when Ludovico pulled the horses off road to a small clearing designated for camping.

Muriel was so relieved to be stationary again that he hopped off the back of the carriage to stable ground without thinking.

Ludovico, hopping down at the same time, screamed.

“S-stowaway!” He called out, desperately grasping around his belt for his blade. Bludmila burst out of the carriage to confront him as well.

“Wait!” The apprentice called out, running out to stand between him and the guards. “This is Muriel, he offered to come with us, he’s here to help.”

“What are you saying? When did he sneak on?”

“Yeah, out of the way boss, this guy could be dangerous.”

Muriel just sighed. He was still a little wobbly from the journey, so it took a second to fish out the myrrh from his pockets. He looked at it in his hands, silently wishing he could manage this journey without them knowing him. He handed it off to the apprentice anyways, who distributed it to the both of them.

“This is only temporary.” They said as the guards smelled the herb, recognition flashing in their eyes. “Once we are done the mission, you both need to return those.”

“Alright, boss.” Ludovico said, squinting at Muriel in confusion.

“What is going on here?” Bludmila asked, looking around the myrrh suspiciously.

“It’s a spell.” They didn’t elaborate.

The guards looked between them and him before shrugging.

Muriel took a deep breath. He thought standing on stable earth would help, but his body still felt like he was on the carriage, making him feel even more sick than before. He walked off, wanting some time to settle his stomach.

He approached the treeline at the edge of the clearing. The trees here were becoming more boreal, a sure sign they were headed to colder lands. Rather than the vibrant, lush green leaves of his end of the forest, most of these were adorned with dark needles.

He pressed a hand to the trunk of a pine, grimacing at the sticky sap he got all over his palm, but he needed the support.

He was in way over his head. He would be in no condition to protect anyone if he was constantly like this. He would be more likely to trip and split his head on a rock than save anyone from danger.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he breathed heavily through gritted teeth until the world re-centred around him. It took a few minutes, but eventually he felt okay. Wiping his hand off on the grass, he returned to the camp site.

The guards gave him wary looks, unsure of what to make of him, as they had set out to their respective tasks. One was struggling to start a fire, the other was trying to erect the four sleeping tents.

The tents were made of some silky fabric that was detailed and decorated in a way that screamed impracticality. They looked far too thin to be any good south of the border. He scowled at the delicate things. They were also quite small, he wasn’t entirely sure he would fit in one. He might as well sleep outside with how thin they looked anyways.

Bludmila, who was knocking flint stones together, cursed as another small flame she had gotten going burnt out before the larger logs she set together could catch.

“You need more tinder.” Muriel offered.

She looked up at him, surprised at his voice. She blinked down to her campfire and nodded before going around to look for more dry leaves and twigs to put under.

He looked up at caught the apprentice watching him, small smile on their face.

“They’re good people.” They said, taking a breath and looking out over the camp.

Muriel just shrugged. He was glad that they had asked for the myrrh back after, but he was still uncomfortable with the idea of so many people knowing him all at once. He had grown quite used to the comfort of anonymity.

“You okay?” They searched his face.

He gave a short nod.

“Do you get motion sickness easy? You looked a little woozy when you got off the back there.”

He just looked off to the side, not wanting to admit it.

“You know, sitting at the back only makes it worse, you’re less likely to get it if you sit up front.”

“No.” There was no way Muriel was going to put up with a full day of sitting with those chatty guards. He’d rather fall off the cart from a dizzy spell and be left for dead.

“You can take the reins if that would be better for you, I can make sure the three of us leave you alone.” They gave him a small smile when they saw him considering it.

Even still, he shrugged. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to a full day of travels tomorrow, but he’d figure something out.

“Alright, suit yourself.” Then their eyes shifted downwards, looking nervous. “Did you read my letter by any chance?”

Muriel didn’t know how to respond. Their farewell letter to him had been bleak, but there was something in it that he had completely overlooked at first.

“You shouldn’t care about me.” He felt his face betraying him as he said this, the telltale heat of a blush rising on his cheeks. He didn’t look directly at them, but from the corner of his eye, he could see a blush on their face as well.

“Yeah, sorry about that. You don’t have to worry, I was just nervous. Yeah, that was it, I was nervous about this whole trip and uh… yeah, don’t worry about it.” They gave him an exaggerated smile, waving their hand nonchalantly in the air. “You don’t have to read too much into it. I don’t hate you or anything like that, but we’re not friends, like you asked. So, no worries, right?”

They laughed a little too loudly.

Muriel was admittedly a little confused. Their reaction was strange, but even stranger was that what they said almost hurt. It was like the sting of rejection.

Had he wanted them to care about him? That would be ridiculous. Why would they in the first place? He didn’t have Asra’s seemingly effortless charm. He wasn’t sweet or had that magnetic quality that the apprentice had.

He was a bitter, grumpy recluse with a mean streak.

As he gave them a hesitant nod to their explanation, another thought came to mind: he didn’t think he was nearly as attractive as them.

He had never cared much for his own appearance. His massive figure had always been cause for self-consciousness, people always stared before he got his gift. While he’s overlooked now, whenever he saw himself, he could only see marred skin. He often found himself frowning at his scars.  

It also so happened that he realized he had just admitted to himself that he found the apprentice attractive.

Now that he thought about it, he found them very attractive.  

Trying to save face, Muriel quickly turned around, away from them. He could feel himself going beet red. His brain must have been rattled around too much on the ride over.

Muriel avoided them for the rest of the night. He took his dinner ration and went to eat it alone in the woods. He desperately tried to contain himself, but they were all he could think of at he ate the cold, unheated food.

He was hopeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna warn you guys now, I love a big cast of characters. It's gonna take a village to get this Big Boy to accept the apprentice's feelings (and his own). I was happy to bring back Lud & Blud from canon, they've only got, what, like 2 appearances now? 
> 
> As tagged, there's gonna be a couple of original side characters but I'm sticking to the lore of this story, I'm not putting any self-inserts or anything like that, I made them specifically for this story. They should make sense with the plot. I still want everything to be coherent and believable within the fiction. Also, now that I fleshed them out, I'm excited to start writing them in!  
> One of them may have already been introduced wink wink nudge nudge.


	15. A Familiar Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was def hungover today from celebrating the Raptors' championship win last night lol

The following morning, Muriel is the first one to rise.

He hadn’t slept comfortably. He had been cramped up in the tiny tent. His knees had to be held up awkwardly to his chest, so he was very stiff as he tried to crawl out.

Even if he had been comfortable, he doubted he would have slept well. There was too much his mind was trying to process at the same time.

He had tried scouring his memory for anything about the Scourge of the South clan. He could visualize their traditional garbs, the layered furs adorned with their beetle emblem and their kohl facial markings. He figured he could recognize one if he saw them, but anyone was going to be a threat as soon as they crossed the southern border regardless. Didn’t matter what clothes they wore or what clan they belonged to, it was a lawless, unforgiving place.

When he finally managed to work his way out of the tent, he noticed Bludmila fast asleep beside her tent. She had volunteered to take the second half of the night watch after the other guard.

Muriel shook his head. They were all doomed.

The horses shuffled around where they were tied up and snorted at him when they saw that he was up. Muriel hadn’t really gotten an opportunity to look at them up close, but as he walked up to them, he realized they were a lot bigger than he originally thought. The one closest to him stretched its head out, giving him a tentative sniff before trying to nibble at his pelt.

Muriel gently nudged the horse’s face away from the fur, petting down the white stripe that ran down its nose instead. They were admittedly a little intimidating to stand beside, he wasn’t used to looking up at anything. Most things were smaller, if not tiny, next to him.

Now he knew what it must feel like for other people around him like as the other horse straightened up, standing more than a head above him.

“It kind of looks like you.” The apprentice said with a laugh, coming up to stand beside him.

Muriel jumped when they spoke, startling the horse too, who gave an annoyed huff under his hand.

A quick look behind him told him they were the only two awake. Turning back, he scrutinized the face that was resting up against his hands, enjoy the petting. This was a horse, he was a human. There weren’t many similarities.

The apprentice saw his confused inspection of the animal’s appearance and laughed again.

“In a good way. You don’t look exactly alike obviously, but they remind me of you.” They smiled as they reached up to scratch the cheek of the other one. “All tall, and sturdy. Not to mention strong. They’ve got the same long, black hair that’s always falling in their face too.” They gently brushed the mane out of the horse’s eyes.

His hair? He never thought about it much, but he supposed he did like being able to hide behind it. If he was overwhelmed or wanted to feel less seen, he could kind of shrink back behind it. Looking at the mane of the horse he was petting, it was kind of similar.

“This one has soft eyes like you too.”

Muriel flustered, the fond tone of their voice pierced right through him. As his face reddened, the apprentice got that mischievous look in their eye, which was never a good sign for him.

“Sorry, horse, as much as you remind me of him, Muriel is still much cuter than you are.” They smiled and patted its pink nose.

It was too early to deal with this.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” They batted their eyes at him, feigning innocence.

“Saying things like… that.”

“You want me to lie?” They gasped, barely managing to hide a smile.

“Just stop talking to me.”

“I was talking to the horse, not you. Isn’t that right?” They turned back to the horse, holding both sides of its face in their hands and making it nod in response to their question.

Muriel let out a long, deep sigh to try and cool his face. They definitely weren’t helping with their big grin.

 _They have a cute smile_. He thought before he could calm his pounding heart.

They were going to be the death of him.

 

 

It was still relatively early when they set out for the day. Bludmila had woken up with a start as if she had suddenly remembered she was supposed to be on guard. She woke up Ludovico so she could apologize to everyone.

The apprentice was very forgiving, waving it off as if it wasn’t a big deal. Muriel hadn’t said anything. He could tell that the stress and sleep deprivation was getting to him. He still had enough foresight, though, to know that if he did open his mouth it would be something unnecessarily bitter that he would regret later.

So, he kept quiet and to himself as he climbed back on to the back of the carriage. He remembered the apprentice’s words of warning about the motion sickness, but he wasn’t about to discuss that with the group.

Instead, he laid himself down over the back platform. It was wide enough that he could lay on his side without too much trouble.

As he watched the trail behind them, the sway of the ride made him feel like he was looking out over some strange ocean. The trail was vast and empty, they were alone out here. As much as he wanted to be alone himself, he could still hear the idle chatter of the guards. The apprentice was more quiet today. They took up the spot inside the carriage, working away at something or another. They had brought along a fair amount of paperwork.

A small tug in his heart told him to join them in there.

Muriel just sighed. He was becoming concerned that his emotions were going to start getting in the way. That wasn’t often the case for him, he was generally pretty good at disassociating himself from his feelings, but now he wasn’t doing so well. No matter how much he tried to suppress himself, they would come back in full force, if not stronger. He was worried it would start to cloud his judgement.

He felt like he was fighting a losing battle against his growing affection for the shopkeep. In less than a month, they had somehow managed to win him over, more so than they likely intended. More than they would probably ever want.

He had to learn to control himself. He couldn’t be irrational around them, he was sent by Asra to protect them, to be their bodyguard. If he was too busy losing himself over any little smile they sent his way, he wouldn’t be able to do that. He would fail, and failure wasn’t an option.

He had decided to refuse their offer of friendship. Sticking to that plan was the safest option for them both. He was just going to have to find the strength within himself to chill his warming heart.

He watched the wind send rippling waves over the long grass that flanked the dirt trail. He followed the steady lines of hoofprints that trailed as far back as he could see down the path. The birds flying above caught his eye, particularly one large raptor of some sort. It was too high to see clearly but even with the movement of the carriage he could tell it was larger than any bird he had ever seen in his forest.

It caught an updraft and continued higher up in the sky overhead, swirling in large circles as it rose. It was almost hypnotizing to watch.

It didn’t take long before his eyes were drifting shut.

 

 

It wasn’t until he was nearly thrown off the back of the carriage that he woke up. The sun was high in the sky by now, he must have been out for a while.

Why were they stopping?

They must have already crossed the border into the Southlands. The trail they were following was much rougher, it felt like it was rattling his skull as the horses trotted to a stop. There was a dangerous air to this place, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

They shouldn’t be stopping here, their safest bet was to keep moving. The horse-drawn carriage would make it hard for bandits to catch up, but if they stopped…

Muriel sat upright so fast he saw stars. This was not good, they shouldn’t be stop moving in such an open clearning, no matter what.

“Why are we stopping?” The apprentice asked for him. Muriel could hear the tell-tale sliding sound of them opening the cubby window to talk to the two guards on the coach.

“There’s someone out there, they look like they might need help.”

Oh, so it was a trap. An ambush waiting to happen.

Muriel tried getting up, but he was having a hard time orienting himself. When he surveyed the area around them, his breath caught in his throat.

A caravan of roughly 20 carriages was moving at an alarming speed over to his right. They were a distance away, but he could tell the carriages were much smaller and older than theirs. They were crudely painted in bright colours and had long, forest-green banners that flew behind them. There was a symbol on them, but it was too far away for Muriel to see it clearly.  

Muriel realized a moment too late that they were moving away from where he was, not towards. They were charging off into the east and he could faintly hear the boisterous passengers whooping and hollering as they ran off.

Were they running away from something?

That thought shot ice through Muriel’s veins. They were in danger, there was no other explanation.

Muriel, still shaky, lowered himself to the ground, making sure his whittling knife was accessible in his belt.

“Hello strangers!” A raspy voice called.  

“Hail and well met, traveller,” Bludmila returned, “Certainly it isn’t safe for you to be out here alone like this.”

“No, not in the slightest.” The stranger laughed. “I was travelling with that caravan over there. A rowdy bunch, those ones. They were great company, but we parted ways here.”

“Why was that?”

“I’m finding my way back home. My travelling days are nearly behind me and the sea of Nevivon calls. If I’m not mistaken, this carriage looks like Vesuvian craft, will you be heading back soon?”

“We will be once our business is done further south.”

“Further south? You must have quite the mission ahead of you. Either that, or you three are the bravest, most adventurous Vesuvians I’ve ever met.” The stranger gave another laugh. “Would you be so kind as to lend a hand to an old bard such as myself? I’ve got some medical knowledge and my lute, but that’s about all I have to offer I’m afraid.”

By then, Muriel had steadied himself on his feet. He caught the apprentice and they were stepping out of the carriage, holding them back.

He was in full defensive mode. He did not trust this stranger, nor did he want to be stopped for a moment longer. While every instinct in his body told him just to give up, let the man rob them or whatever, he was driven forward. Asra’s voice begging him to bring the apprentice back safe rang in his ears as he tip-toed forward, moving as silently as the dirt below him would allow, and keeping a hand on the hilt of his knife as he snuck around the carriage. Sticking close to the vehicle, he peeked around to catch a glimpse of the drifter they had stopped for.

The man was long-limbed and stood with a slouch. He looked like he may have had sharper edges to his silhouette in his youth, but age had softened him. He wore his silvery hair in a messy braid that hung over a coat that looked far too light for the southern chill. Over one shoulder was strapped a large satchel, over the other was a strangely familiar, handmade instrument.

The man caught sight of him then. He looked over right at Muriel, a curious look over his gentle features.

He was older, certainly, since Muriel had last seen him, but it was unmistakably the musician from the docks.

The bard blinked at him. 

"Have we met?"

With his spell, Muriel found everyone, even those who could have recognized him from before he became the Scourge, had forgotten him. He had only given the myrrh to Asra at first, then the apprentice. Now there were a total of 4 people in the whole world who remembered him.

He was uncomfortable even with that number, but as the bard stood there and searched his face, searched for a memory to match the sense of familiarity, Muriel felt like he wanted this man to know. This man had looked out for Asra and him, he was one of the few people to show them genuine kindness in their early years. 

"Oh, now I know." The man's voice was hopeful, like things were finally starting to piece together. "You remind me of a shadow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You remind me of the boy. (What boy?) The boy in the shadows. (What shadows?) The shadows he withdrew to (Who do?) You do. (Do what?) Remind me of the boy.


	16. Forget Me Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Father's to Petya for being the only adult who was ever genuinely kind to Muriel and would 100% be willing to adopt him even now at this age. 
> 
> Today, Petya is everyone's dad. He loves & supports you in everything you do and he's just so proud of you.

Muriel had taken up his position back on the rear of the wagon. He found himself staring blankly at the trail behind them, as if his brain gave up on processing this whole situation.

The bard had been warned of the dangers of the journey ahead, but he accepted the apprentice’s offer to join.

As if the carriage wasn’t crowded enough already.

Muriel had panicked, to say the least. The flash of recognition in the bard’s eyes had spooked him. His first concern was that the spell was losing its power. Maybe he had given myrrh to too many people and it was wearing down its capabilities. Muriel had just turned heel and got right back on the carriage.

Thankfully, the bard seemed to have fallen back under the spell once Muriel was out of his line of sight.

Now, the new addition was sitting up on the coach box with Bludmila. The sound of his lazy strumming of the lute drifted around the cart, a light tune to accompany their journey. Involuntarily, Muriel found himself relaxing to the sound of it.

The bard had introduced himself as Petya but said they all could call him whatever they wanted. He had a habit of nicknames, claiming that in his travels he had met so many people that it was impossible to remember everyone’s name. He called people what he remembered them by.

After a story of how the guards and the apprentice first met, a harrowing tale of mistakenly denying entry and a costumed maze chase, Petya had taken to calling Ludovico and Bludmila “Bun” and “Deer” respectively. The guards laughed, calling them fitting nicknames.

“Say, Apprentice,” Petya asked, not missing a beat in his tune, “Got any song requests?”

“I don’t know many songs,” they admitted, “I’ve heard some nice ones, but I don’t know what they’re called or anything like that.”

“Hmm, what did they sound like?”

“Well I heard one recently, it was soothing. It sounded … gentle? I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Ah, I’ve got just the song for you. This is an old favourite of mine,” He said as he began to alter the melody of the current song he was strumming out, morphing it to transition into the next. “It was never a great song for street performances, people there like the upbeat ones they can dance to. This one, though, I used to play for this sweet, shy kid down at those Vesuvian docks. He and his friend were the kindest souls there and I wanted to play something for them like I did the other kids, something to make them smile.”

Muriel began to recognize the chords he began to play, nostalgia washing over him.

“The fluffy-headed one liked all sorts of songs, but the other one was always sticking to the shadows. He never made any requests and hardly even let himself be seen if the other kids were around. Once, I got to play specially for him and Fluffy, so he finally let himself enjoy the music. It warms my heart to this day remembering how his eyes lit up as I played the songs I hoped he would like. When I played this one, the little Shadow even smiled. It’s one of my proudest accomplishments.” Petya gave a light laugh before he began singing the familiar lyrics of the song.

The fondness in his tone as he spoke of Muriel’s younger self was unexpected. He found himself brought back to the night on the docks, listening to this same song. The bard’s voice was raspier than it had been back then, but it was just as he remembered it.

He sighed as he listened, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have him on board after all.

 

 

“Muriel?” The apprentice asked, coming around to the back of the carriage when they had stopped to camp that night.

He was standing, eyes closed, trying to settle his stomach again. It was getting easier to deal with, but it didn’t change the fact the nausea lingered. He just gave a small grunt in reply.

“We should set up protection wards around camp tonight now.”

He nodded in agreement. Now that they were in the Southlands, nowhere was safe. They had driven the carriage a ways off the path and into an inconspicuous part of the forest. The guards grabbed a couple of bristled branches and went off to sweep away their tracks.

Petya had fallen asleep in the carriage earlier, claiming that he couldn’t get a wink of sleep when he travelled with the rowdy caravan and that he was glad to be picked up by a quiet group this time.

Muriel willed himself to be steady on his feet as he followed the apprentice in mapping out where the charms should be placed. They had brought plenty of ingredients from the magic shop to make stronger wards, which Muriel tied all together and hung around the perimeter of camp. The apprentice got to work on setting magical trip wires around the outer barriers that would alarm them if anyone got too close.

They were nearly done getting the camp secured when Muriel heard the apprentice gasp. He was already running over to them when they spoke up.

“Muriel look!” Their voice wasn’t scared at least. They sounded excited.

Muriel got over beside them and saw what they were pointing to. They had stumbled upon a small clearing that was absolutely filled with forget-me-nots. He was speechless, there were so many that the grass looked completely blue and violet.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

He nodded, captivated by the meadow of flowers. He looked back at the apprentice, and they had a look of awe on their face, just as entranced by the small petals as he had been. They met his gaze and gave him a smile.

Oddly enough, he felt the corners of his lips twitch upward too.

 

 

Both of them had gone back to the camp to let everyone know that all the charms were in place and it was finally safe to light a fire. Admittedly, it was getting cold, even for him.

The apprentice got out the furs, ones Muriel guessed they ordered for the Palace earlier, and handed them out. Some were just pelts, but others had been fashioned into warm, winter coats. None of the coats would have fit him, but he accepted one flat pelt of heavy, thick fur for a blanket.

Ludovico wrapped himself in about 4 of the pelts on top of his coat, hugging himself close by the fire looking like the world’s strangest animal as he tried to warm up.

“If I succumb to frost bite tonight, Blud, tell my mom I loved her.” He wined.

“You big baby.” Bludmila laughed and threw another pelt on top of his head as she slipped on her coat.

Muriel was becoming a little more accustomed to the presence of the two guards. They were kind enough, and they respected his need for privacy. He would catch them watching him curiously every so often, but for the most part, they left him alone.

When the carriage door opened and the bard stepped out, yawning and rubbing his eyes, Muriel panicked again.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust him. There was just some irrational fear at the thought of giving him the myrrh. Somehow, it was easier to open up to strangers. The thought of having Petya remember him was too… personal.

It was a reminder that he had once been a lonely orphan living at the docks with other street urchins. There was an anxiety of having this man knowing him now when he had such fond memories of him as a child. Would he be disappointed in what he had become? Would he ask about his scars?

Muriel was afraid he would be expected to open up, to relive a past he had chosen to put behind him.

It was easier to be avoidant than to deal with his problems, so that’s what he chose. He made sure to keep out of Petya’s line of sight.

He didn’t even realize where he was going until his feet brought him back to the beautiful little clearing. The sun had set by now, and the bright moon cast the scene with a silver glow. It was breathtaking.

There was a certain familiarity to the scene that he couldn’t quite place, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

Stepping gingerly into the overgrown meadow, he managed to make it to a fallen trunk that he could take a seat on.

He sat and watched for some time. He had always liked the gentleness the tiny blossoms. These ones swayed in the wind that made it through the trees, almost like they were dancing for him.

“I figured I’d find you out here.” The apprentice said as they came to the entrance to the clearing. He wasn’t sure how long he had been there, but it must have been a while since they were holding two dinner rations. They motioned one to him, “you didn’t heat yours last night, so I figured I’d bring you a hot one myself.”

In his rush to get out of the campground before Petya saw him again, he had completely forgotten to grab a meal for the night. He felt a slight gratitude at their thoughtfulness, he didn’t know what he would have done if they hadn’t brought it out to him.

He went to stand up to go get it from them, but they gave a shy sort of shrug.

“Do you mind if I eat there too? This is such a beautiful little place.”

“I can leave.”

“No!” They said a little too quickly, giving a nervous laugh, “No, that’s alright, I happen to like your company.”

“Oh.” Muriel lowered himself back down onto the log. It was just barely big enough for them both to sit on, so when they handed him the ration, he tried shuffling as far down it as he could.

“Don’t worry about that,” they assured, finding a patch of flowerless grass nearby and sitting down in it cross-legged.

The both of them sat in silence as they ate, the faint sounds of Petya’s lute playing in the distance.

“So, uh,” they cleared their throat, “did you hear what Petya was saying earlier today?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“The whole ‘Shadow’ thing?”

Pursing his lips and looking away, he gave a short nod.

“Was that… you? I recognized the song he played, and it seemed like he almost recognized you earlier.”

He sighed, he knew it would have been obvious, there was no point in trying to hide it.

“Yeah, I knew him before.”

They nodded, “Are you going to give him the myrrh too?”

His brows furrowed. He still was undecided.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. I figured we had to with Ludovico and Bludmila because, well, they’d probably try and attack you any time they spotted you.” They frowned at the thought. “But, Petya is harmless, and it’s not really integral for him to remember. So, if you don’t want to I can help cover for you anytime he asks.”

“Why?”

“You’re on this mission because of me, the least I can do is make sure you’re comfortable. I figured that giving him the myrrh or having to explain yourself anytime he loses sight of you would both be uncomfortable situations for you. I’d be happy to help however I can, Muriel.”

He took another bite of his food, chewing thoughtfully. Their idea did sound nice.

“And Petya’s a great singer and all, but I think I liked your version of that song better.” In a strike of boldness, they gave him a wink.

Muriel’s face heated. He really wasn’t going to live down being caught singing, was he?

“My voice is useless for singing.” It was true, he had always thought it was far too gravelly to be any good.

“What are you talking about? You have a lovely baritone.”

“It’s too grumbly.” He mumbled.

“That adds a nice effect.” They insisted, giving a sigh when they saw they weren’t getting anywhere with the topic.

There wasn’t much to the dinner, so they both finished relatively quickly. The apprentice, instead of heading back to camp, stayed seated to stargaze.

“They’re so clear here, the stars.” They said softly. They looked like they were trying to memorize the pattern of the entire universe as they stared up at it.

Muriel couldn’t help but blush a bit at seeing them like this. It certainly was a sight to behold: the apprentice cloaked in moonlight with wonder in their eyes, surrounded by the meadow flowers. He could imagine it being something the Palace commissioned to paint.

Trying to stop himself from staring, Muriel began fidgeting his hands in his lap, unsure what to do with himself.

A thought came to mind as he looked out over the hundreds of little blooms. Reaching down, he plucked some stems and began to weave them together. It was through muscle memory that he nimbly braided the plants, creating a crown of flowers. The blooms were too small to fill it out, though, so he picked some more to add, tying them all together until it was billowing with the bright colours.

When they took notice of what he was doing, the apprentice watched him in stunned silence. They tried to follow the movement of his fingers as he worked the plants as if spellbound.

He looked at the crown this way and that, making sure he didn’t leave any bald spots. Satisfied, he just held it, unsure of what he intended to do with it.

“That’s incredible, Muriel.” They said, leaning closer to inspect his handiwork.

“Here.” He decided to hand it over.

They smiled so brightly at him it made his heart hurt. Gently, so as not to hurt any of the flowers, they took it from him, looking closer at the complicated weaving.

“I’ve got an idea.” They stood up and walked over, half-kneeling on the log so they could be eye-to-eye with him. He was startled at their sudden closeness and froze as they gently placed it on his head.

He felt his face heat in reaction as they pulled back, just a bit, to look at him and adjust the angle of the crown.

From it, their hands drifted down, parting the hair that fell over his face. He felt vulnerable, exposed even, without the veil of it.

This nervousness lasted only a moment, though, as they tucked the hair behind his ears. The feather-light trail of their fingertips over his cheeks left a glowing warmth in their wake.

“That’s better.” Their voice was soft, hardly more than a whisper.

He felt strange, some mix of a thousand different emotions going on at the same time. He knew this was trouble, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull out of it. They looked like they were lost in his eyes in the most intense and intimate eye contact he probably had ever had in his life. His heart was racing, and he was starting to feel a little light headed.

He parted his lips slightly to take a deeper breath, but the apprentice’s gaze immediately shift down to them.

Everything stilled for a moment. It felt like his heart stopped and the breath he was taking caught in his throat. The moment dragged on as he watched the apprentice’s eyes, half-lidded, trail back up from his lips to look at him again. The look they were giving him was something that he couldn’t quite place.

One thing he did know was that he was scared. This was a lot and he was getting overwhelmed. Part of him wanted to run away, but the other part of him was nearly screaming at him to lean forward and close the distance between them. As a compromise, he stayed as still as a statue.

Something in the apprentice clicked and they suddenly jumped back, looking mortified.

Muriel’s anxiety bubbled in his throat, did he do something wrong?

“Muriel, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” They rushed to explain, “I wasn’t thinking, I know you need your personal space, I shouldn’t have-  I’m really, really sorry.”

If he hadn’t known what they were apologizing for, he would have guessed that they just slapped him or something. All they had done was put a crown on him and tuck his hair back, but there was a bit of relief that came with the space between them now. He could think clearly again.  

At least, as clearly as he could anytime the apprentice was near lately.

“It’s fine.” His cheeks matched theirs, a deep blush having overcome them both.

“I-I’ll head back now, sorry to bother you.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“You really don’t have to, it’s fine-”

Muriel knew that he shouldn’t rely on the apprentice to deal with his problems. Especially with how his heart was still pounding in his ears from the brief moment they had shared, if he let them be his shield to hide behind, he knew things were just going to get much more difficult.

“Then can you come with me?” He turned it on them, feeling the honesty behind the question he asked. That screaming part of him from earlier wanted to reach out and grab their hand. He wanted to be anchored again as his nervousness rose at the prospect. “I’m going to give Petya the myrrh.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, soooo I’m debating on how far these two are gonna go as I write this. I'm just trying to pick a rating for this fic. Like, there’s already so much explicit content on here for the Arcana fandom (which I'm not complaining about, and have also contributed to), so there's opportunity for this to be a standalone purely-romantic slow burn tale, y’know, shake up the status quo, differentiation and all that (can you tell I'm a business major?)  
> But at the same time, I’m wouldn't be against putting a nsfw chapter in eventually, though it would be much further down the line. I wouldn't be able to go into too much detail either to keep the apprentice as vague as possible. hmmmmmmmm


	17. Guarded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all, there’s mention of alcohol in this chapter. I never say directly if the apprentice drinks as well, so if you don’t imagine your apprentice doing that for whatever reason, you can assume they didn’t partake.  
> On the flip side, if you wanna imagine your apprentice getting absolutely shitfaced then go right ahead. Whatever floats your goat

As Muriel entered the campground, the chatter between the three there died down, eyes turning to him. He would have felt singled out, but he made himself focus on the task at hand. While he wasn’t holding their hand this time, the apprentice's presence was enough to help settle him like it had at the market.

He stopped in front of the bard. The apprentice stayed too, looking like they were trying to calculate what was the perfect distance to keep from him.

While still strumming his lute, Petya looked up at him with that same curious expression as before, searching his face for a clue to the sense familiarity.

Muriel just closed his eyes and handed over the myrrh.

Petya set his makeshift instrument aside to inspect the plant, plunging the campground into complete silence, save for the crackling fire. Bludmila and Ludovico sat back and watched carefully, eager for any opportunity they got to learn more about their mysterious tag-a-longs.

Petya looked at the myrrh curiously before his head snapped up with a flash of recognition. A bright smile stretched across his face, crinkling the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes.

“Shadow, it _is_ you!” He jumped to his feet. To Muriel’s surprise, the man was starting to tear up. “You made it out!”

The relief and joy in his voice was staggering. Muriel didn’t know how to respond.

“And my, have you grown. I thought you were tall as a kid, but I never expected you to grow up into a mountain.” He laughed, a couple of the tears spilling over onto his cheeks. “I’m so happy you made it out of that shithole. But look at you, my boy, the scars the world has carved into you.”

The man’s gaze was woeful as he looked over the marring of his torso. Muriel found himself shrinking back, pulling his pelt tighter around his shoulders to cover himself up more.

“Who did this to you?”

He didn’t answer.

“Have you been well at least then?” He sighed, thankfully understanding that it wasn’t something Muriel was going to talk about. He looked like he really wanted to hug him but was doing his best to hold himself back.

Muriel shrugged. He supposed he had been well enough recently, but the constant emotional turmoil he’d gotten himself into, paired with his recent injury, wasn’t great.

A small frown on Petya’s face appeared. “What are you doing this far south anyways?”

Muriel looked over at the apprentice, which was a mistake since Petya tried to read between the lines.

“I see…” His hummed, giving a quick pump of his eyebrows at Muriel as he looked between two of them. “You’re doing rather well for yourself then, Shadow.”

The blush returned to Muriel’s face. Before he could correct him though, the apprentice chimed in.

“Muriel volunteered to join our dangerous mission to protect us.”

“Muriel? That’s your name?”

He gave a slow nod.

“Huh. There was a boy with the same name on the caravan too. Wee little thing, barely above my hip, but tall for his age apparently. Kind of reminded me of you too, a shy one. Looks like that might be something you’ve grown out of though.”

“Oh, he hasn’t.” the apprentice giggled.

Petya gave a knowing smile.

“Then it must have been hard to come up to me like this, so I appreciate you taking the time to do that.” He tucked the myrrh in his pocket. “How’s Fluffy? You two still friends?”

Muriel nodded again, wishing the small talk would just end already. The fondness in Petya’s voice kept him from just walking away though.

“I’m so glad, Shadow. You and Fluffy made it, and now I’ve gotten the privilege of seeing you again. Today is fortuitous, we should celebrate!”

“Yeah!” Called Bludmila, sloshing whatever drink was in her tin as she raised in cheers.

“Might as well,” Ludovico shrugged, still bundled up under the furs, “a little partying could help us warm up.”

“It should be safe enough with all the wards we put around here.” The apprentice shrugged, giving a final nod of approval.

The guards jumped up with a cheer, Ludovico running over to the cart to pull out a barrel that looked suspiciously alcoholic.

 

 

With that, Petya had picked up his lute again and plucked out up-tempo songs, crooning along to them in a way that had the guards up and dancing.  

Muriel stayed off to the side, a tin of some mead that Ludovico poured him to keep him company. The apprentice sat by the fire, keeping a respectful distance as they clapped their hands in beat to Petya’s music.

The alcohol seemed to set in for the two guards as their laughter grew louder and their dancing more confident. Bludmila spun Ludovico around and let him go, twirling him over to the apprentice. He seemed a little dizzy. He laughed as he nearly fell over when he bowed deeply, offering his hand to them.

“May I have this dance, boss?”

They joined in on his laughter as they let him pull them up, having to quickly catch him when he nearly fell over backwards. Once he was balanced again, he took one of the apprentice’s hands and rested his other on their shoulder, leading them in some bouncy imitation of a ballroom dance.

“What even is that, Lud? You’re hopping around all over the place,” Bludmila interjected, giving him a coy smile as she swooped in and took the apprentice from him.

With Bludmila as a dance partner, the two of them glided gracefully around the fire, Ludovico left behind giggling as he tried to keep up.

Muriel couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy as the apprentice danced from one guard’s arms to the next.

A blush rose to his face, though, at the thought of being in one of the guard’s places, holding them close, having them look up at him with an elated smile as they held him too.

Petya was content to dance in his own style as he played, stopping out beats and rhythms to imitate percussive accompaniment. He watched the antics of the guards with clear amusement.

Muriel watched as they had their fun, the four of them sneaking  in a moment of glee in an otherwise dangerous time. He took a sip of the mead, finding it pleasantly sweet. It was quite to his taste, so it didn’t take long to get every last drop of it from the tin. He didn’t drink often, but with his build this wouldn’t even be enough to feel a telltale buzz.

It certainly wasn’t enough to get him to join in when the guards both came up to him, smiles bright on their flushed faces. They offered out their hands in unison, beckoning him to come with them. He felt himself shrink away at their offer, to a chorus of “Aw come on!” and “It’ll be fun!”

The apprentice came in then, catching their shoulders and turning them away, sending an apologetic smile his way.

This went on for the rest of the night. The guards were determined to dance until they tired themselves out. Their dancing grew more reckless as the mead flowed, until Muriel felt like he should be concerned one of them would fall into the fire pit. Despite the potential accident waiting to happen, his attention, though, was elsewhere.

He found himself entranced as the apprentice danced. They moved with a grace he would never be able to replicate with his bulky figure. He couldn’t say he would want to be able to do what they were doing, he was more than content to just watch them do it. They were able to adapt to any song that Petya played and still somehow take his breath away. Every so often, the apprentice would catch his eye and send him a bright smile without missing a beat.

He didn’t want to admit it, but that was why he stayed and watched the festivities, despite wanting to go off on his own and get some space. That little, joyous smile they offered would send his heart fluttering and a warmth through his veins.

That was something he didn’t want to miss.

 

 

Spent, the two guards crawled into their respective tents, wishing them all a good night and thanking Muriel for offering to take the night watch. As the rest of them prepared for the night, he told Petya to take his tent.

Since the previous night’s incident of one of the guards falling asleep on duty, he figured it would be best if he took watch the entire night.

“Get some rest, Shadow.” Petya insisted. “I can take half the watch, I already slept on the ride over. Take your tent too, I prefer sleeping under the stars anyways.”

The bard shook out the pelts Ludovico left behind, laying them out in a makeshift bed.

Muriel refused though. He instead took a seat by the smouldering ashes of the fire, watching the glow of the embers fade in and out. He spotted a stick that had been spared the flame from the pit and grabbed it. He occupied his hands by whittling it down to a point. Extra weaponry if he needed it, he supposed.

He had intended to spend the night in silence. He was too on-edge to sleep out here anyways.

“Mind if I join you?” Petya spoke nearly an hour after everyone had already gone to bed. Muriel startled at his voice, even though it was only a whisper. The bard had come over from his nest of furs to sit with him.

Muriel gave a hesitant nod and watched him out of the corner of his eyes as Petya lowered himself beside him.

“It’s a beautiful night out, the stars are so clear.” He said looking to the heavens. There was a gentle smile on his face as his eyes drifted shut. “It’s nights like these that remind me of my younger years, when I lived freely. Summer flings, budding romances, and all that.”

Muriel raised a brow.

“I was blissfully unaware of the world at that time, too preoccupied in my missions and my travels.” he continued, “I didn’t even realize I was missing wistful sighs and longing glances from a woman who was already right at my side. Even when I did catch on, I denied myself. Deep down, I thought I wasn’t ready for such a beauty’s love.”

Muriel felt himself scowl, suspicious of his intention of sharing this story.

“I had my own problems. I wouldn’t have dared burden her with them.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Can’t an old man reminisce on love and life?” The small smile dropped when he gave a deep sigh. “I’m a bard, Shadow. I’ve been a bard my entire life. I’ve seen, and been a part of, a number of romances. Hell, part of my job is understanding and helping morale. I’m a bit of an expert on the human experience, if you will.”

Muriel just blinked.

“What I’m getting at is that I’ve seen that look before.” He glanced sidelong at him, waving his hand in Muriel’s direction. “Not just yours either.”

“…What?”

“Apprentice is an interesting one, aren’t they? Not just a lovely face or charming dancer either, they’ve got a kind soul too.” The grin returned when this got a blush out of Muriel, as if proving his point. “Shadow, You don’t meet a person like that every monarchy.”

Was he…?

“It’s a shame you weren’t able to dance with them today, it sure looked like they wanted to.”

“I don’t dance.” Muriel sputtered, catching on to what Petya was trying to insinuate.

“They knew that, that’s why they never asked. Didn’t stop the longing in their eyes as they looked at you, though, even when they were dancing with the others.

“No.” He didn’t know what else to say other than to just refuse it.

“Shad-” he stopped himself, shaking his head, “Muriel was it? Muriel, I’m telling you this for a reason.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Nobody ever does.” He mused, “People say that they want to live life with no regrets. That wasn’t me. I’ve racked up plenty of them, but now I can help people learn from my mistakes. My greatest regret was that I guarded my heart too closely. In reality, I was just denying myself the love I didn’t think I deserved.”

Muriel’s heart was pounding in his chest. His words were striking chords in him that he was deeply uncomfortable with. This was too much. All of a sudden this guy comes straight out of his memories to what, offer love advise?

He shuddered internally at the thought of “love.”

“If you’re going to stay up then you take the first watch.” He snapped at him.

With a huff, Muriel nearly dove into his tiny tent. It wasn’t as good as his hut, but it was still the only refuge he had on this trip. It was his sanctuary where nothing from the outside world could bother him.

Except, as he finally managed to fit himself inside, he noticed a bulky purple envelope by the entrance.

 

_Dear Muriel,_

_I must apologize again for overstepping your boundaries. It was never my intention to make you uncomfortable or to scare you. I had a momentary lapse in self control and I promise I will not let it happen again._

_I’ll admit, I still haven’t fully come to terms with your rejection. I need time. I promised to respect your decision, so I think it’s best that I keep my distance. I’ve enclosed several papers, ink, and a quill for you to use if you ever need anything._

_Yours truly,_

Reading the letter, Muriel knew that if he was being honest with himself, he would have felt relieved. In any other circumstance, he would have been.

He should be grateful that the apprentice was finally going to give him some space. It would be best for them both, they could move on from their pursuit of friendship with him and he could get them out of his head.

He searched for any trace of comfort, happiness, or satisfaction within himself at their message.

But as he read over their words carefully, listening to Petya softly humming the verses of his song outside, he couldn’t find any of those.

The next line he hummed, Muriel found himself mouthing along to.

_Why this frightened part of me that's fated to pretend?_

He only felt lonely.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the way I characterize Muriel, paired with the patience and respectfulness of the apprentice that I write, it would take them approximately 50+ years to admit their feelings for one another. They need some intervention, that’s why I had to introduce Petya. Otherwise this would be one loooooong fic


	18. Summoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We gettin into some action now

The rest of the trip drudged on as the apprentice kept their distance from him. They were still roughly a day’s travel out from the given location but the way the journey was starting to go for him, it might as well be a lifetime away.

There was a surprising unpleasantness to seeing the apprentice accidentally catch his eye and start to give him one of those sweet smiles before catching themselves and quickly turning away. Just as unpleasant were the disquiet looks Petya kept sending him.

Muriel wasn’t around often, though. Now, he saw the rest of the crew maybe once a day if he timed it right. He figured if the apprentice wanted to keep their distance, he wouldn’t interfere with that.

He would set out to hang up the protective charms as soon as they would stop the carriage, ignoring the nausea and heading directly to where he’d set the perimeter.  Once or twice, he would bump into the apprentice as he worked, but he would just give a nod and avert his eyes, carrying on with his work. When this was all done and secured, he would find some secluded area within the wards and stay there. Sometimes he’d whittle a branch down. Other times he would lose himself in his thoughts.

He hadn’t made any progress in filtering through or processing them, though. As much as he tried, he felt like anytime he addressed the issue of the apprentice, his head would just go in circles, leaving him dizzy all over again.

Then there was all that preaching Petya did at him that one night. Muriel didn’t like how his words had affected him. It resurfaced parts of himself that he never wanted to see. He especially didn’t want to consider his implication that the apprentice pined for him. They had only asked for a friendship, there was no way they would want anything more. And certainly he didn’t want to be involved with them.

...Did he?

Muriel was never one to dwell on fleeting crushes. Admittedly, he was no stranger to them. It was as if he was so desperate for any sort of affection that any genuine smile from a stranger could double his heart rate. Those were few and far between, though.

And there was something different about it with the apprentice. It wasn’t just a small pleasantness of a stranger’s kindness. It was something more, something almost daunting to consider.

Now, though, he had been offered a relationship. While only platonic in nature, the offer had been something he never expected. He never thought he would to add to his list of friends– friend, rather.

But the thought of _being_ something to them was almost intoxicating. Even if it was just a friend. The concept of relationships for him were so rare, his only real point of reference was with Asra, and their friendship had escalated significantly over the years.

Would the same happen with them?

Deep down, there was a part of him that wanted more. It felt like he had developed a dependence. He craved their next smile, their next touch.

And that was what scared him. This desire for intimacy hit him like a flash flood. It had all been bottled up inside him and now suddenly the apprentice had shown up and shattered all the barriers holding it back. It was a rush, and it could be exhilarating, he guessed, if he embraced it. But, like a river suddenly rushing, rising, there was that survival instinct that told him to drop everything and run.

Muriel sighed. Here he was circling again. Now that he was starting to actual imagine what it would be like to care for them like that, he decided he was no longer circling, he was actually spiraling.

He was seated on a rock that jutted out of the earth only a few paces from the tents of his sleeping travel mates. The sun had already begun to rise, and it stained the sky brilliantly.

As nice as it may have looked, Muriel had grown up beside the ocean. He knew the implications of a beautiful sunrise.

A warning.

He looked upward, catching sight of another one of those massive birds of prey. A hawk maybe? He watched it circle, much like his mind had been. He traced it’s movements in the sky as it dipped around, adjusting it’s position before resuming it's ring in the sky again.

It was a moment too late that he realized it was adjusting to circle the perimeter of their camp.

Without warning, the hawk dove, plummeting at an inconceivable speed directly at him.

Relying on instinct, he jumped up, bracing himself against the raptor that was easily taller than Inanna. As it came close to the ground, the wings that had been neatly tucked against it’s body spread to their full span. The buffet of wind that hit him, as the bird slowed its descent, nearly knocked him over.

Thinking fast, he called out to the sleeping team, hoping to wake them so they wouldn’t be defenseless should he fall here.

With a couple more flaps of its massive wings, it reached out it’s giant talons to grip the rock Muriel had been sitting on just a moment prior.

If Muriel’s yell hadn’t woken them, the screech the hawk gave surely would have. It pierced his ears and was surely loud enough that it would echo a league away.

The guards, then, fumbled as they tried to free themselves of their silky shelter. Petya had already been on his feet from Muriel’s call.

He had no way to tell if this bird was friend or foe, considering none of them had thought to put protection wards above the campgrounds. By the looks of it, with it’s piercing, golden eyes and a hooked beak perfectly designed for tearing flesh, he doubted it was here to be chummy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the rest of the team flank him, coming around to watch the bird, various weapons in hand. The bird watched each of them carefully before giving one last shrill call and shooting itself back up into the sky with one great flap of its wings.

“What the hell was that.” Bludmila said after a beat of tense silence.

It hadn’t left completely though, it was high in the air, but it still circled directly overhead.

“It’s a scout.” He realized out loud. “It’s leading someone to us.”

“So what do we do now, boss?”

“Yeah, do we run or should we hide out?”

“It’s a clan leader’s.” Petya spoke up, shuffling forward with a big yawn. He looked far too relaxed for the events that just transpired. “The leader of the caravan I was with had something similar. She wasn’t their clan leader per se, apparently that’s a pretty prestigious title. Everyone there called her Mama, she'd been voted in as their leader, but she said she’d once been a matriarch of her own tribe. The initiation had granted her the ‘gift of sight’ as she called it. She had this great big bastard of a bird, kind of like that one there, and she could use it to survey the area from above. See if there were any threats ahead of time, you know?”

“Oh, so it’s Scourge’s leader keeping tabs on us then?” Ludovico asked, seeming to relax.

“No guarantee of that.” Muriel spoke up, not wanting them to let their guard down. “I think I saw that bird several days ago too. There are plenty of people out here who could want us dead.”

The guards gulped in unison, turning to look to the apprentice for direction.

“The directions we were given would say we’re still a day’s ride out from the destination. But now that I think of it, would a war tribe as notorious as the Scourge of the South just give away their location? Maybe this is their way of leading us to the actual place. I say we get back on the road and continue our journey. Everyone, keep your eyes out, we stick to open roads, no narrow or forested passages that could lead to an ambush.”

With that, each of the passengers of the carriage worked to get the horses hooked up and everything back on board. There was a tenseness to the air. These mornings were normally filled with idle chatter, but the events leading up to this put everyone on edge. Each of them strained their ears for any sign of movement around them.

They all climbed on and were moving in record time. That night, they had chosen a small clearing just inside the treeline to the side of the path. It was difficult maneuvering the whole carriage between the trees and over the rocky path, but they made it through mostly without issue.

At least, before they emerged onto the road.

Standing, waiting for them, were roughly ten Scourge members. Each dressed in fitted pelts with unique kohl markings decorating each of their faces. They stood in a curve around the exit of the woods with one standing in front of the others, a smug look on her face.

Muriel peered over the side and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw them. They each carried deadly looking weapons and aimed them at the carriage.

“Scourge!” he called out to the rest of them, letting them know who it was they were dealing with.

“At least one of the cityfolk knows a warrior when he sees one.” The woman standing in front of the party mused, twirling an odd, but very sharp-looking, disk around her finger.

“Who goes there?” Bludmila stood up as she asked, sounding like a true Palace guard.

“Ah well, they can’t all be smart.” One of the ones in formation said. “Your friend just told you, you grub.”

“Weren’t these Monty’s underlings?”

“True, he wouldn’t have liked to surround himself with people smarter than him. He always hated being upstaged.” The warriors seemed to get a laugh out of this.

“Why are you here.” The apprentice interjected their jeers, their voice low.

“Oooh, one’s trying to be intimidating!” The one up front gave them a wicked grin. She stopped twirling her weapon, instead flinging it up and catching it in her hand before pointing it at them. “Vesuvians, you’ve been summoned by our esteemed and ruthless leader, Morga Eirsdottir. It would be… regrettable if your lack of cooperation meant you didn’t make it to her in one piece. Though, I would imagine she wouldn’t mind much. The blood of cityfolk are hard to come by in these parts, it would be a rare trophy.”  

“Do you think she would reward us if we brought it for her collection?”

“Oh, maybe she’d even let us have our own hunt if we do!”

There was a bustling joy at the prospect that seemed to spread through the tribespeople until the one up front snapped a fist up, silencing them.

Muriel bristled as she seemed to scan over the apprentice, giving an appreciative hum.

“Are you here to escort us?” The apprentice didn’t lose their nerve, keeping their voice steady, even as the woman took another step forward.

“You could say that.”

With that, the clan members ceased their snickering, going deadly serious again as they quickly fanned with unnerving coordination and discipline, surrounding the carriage.

Muriel, without thinking, swung himself down from the back of it, going up to shield the apprentice from the weapons aimed at them. Surprisingly, the Scourge people didn’t react to his sudden movements. In fact, they seemed amused as he placed himself between them.

As he was busy surveying the threat, a weird glimmer flashed in front of him.

Just a couple steps from him materialized someone who he had not seen with the group previously. Muriel could hardly see their face from under the massive wolf’s pelt. He found himself staring into the eyes of the snarling face of the hood of their cloak. One eye was scarred and clouded over, but the other one focused on him with an intensity that no taxidermized animal should ever have.  

A harsh voice growled from underneath the hood as they reached a hand up in his direction.

“ _Goodnight_.”

The voice echoed deep in the chambers of his mind, pulling him down deep into the darkness of unconsciousness. He felt a distant thud of what was likely his body hitting the ground, echoed by the fall of the others, before everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The blackness fades from his vision and Muriel winces at the sudden brightness of the sunlight. He's moving, there's the telltale sway and rattle that tells him he's on a horse-drawn cart of some sort. His hands are bound and his head feels like it's filled with rocks. What was going on?
> 
> He looks over at a mysterious man across from him. He doesn't recognize him, but he looks to be in rough shape. His hands are bound as well, his braided blond hair falling into his face. He catches the Muriel's eye and he begins to speak. 
> 
>  
> 
> ["Hey, you. You're finally awake." ](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/539C51WJ8RI/maxresdefault.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> (Thanks for reading! And no, I'm not going to transport Muriel into Skyrim for the next chapters dw, I just couldn't resist the opportunity.)


	19. Into the Cheetah's Den

Muriel awoke to the coolness of hardwood under his cheek as he was dropped gracelessly to the ground.

With a groan, he blinked. His vision was swimming. It was like, up until now, his head was being held under the murky, ocean waters of Vesuvia. His skin had been cold and there was nothing but darkness as his ears rang with the beat of his own heart. There was the profound sense of wrongness to the whole situation that he was incapable of reacting to until he had been suddenly ripped out, back to dry land.

Now, as he sputtered to try and bring air back into his lungs, he somehow managed to coordinate his hands under to push himself up. He wobbled, but he was able to regain his balance as he searched frantically for the apprentice.

To his relief, they hadn’t been separated, but they seemed to be in no better condition than him. None of the others did either.

It didn’t take long for everyone to get back up onto their feet. He had to reach down to help Petya though, letting the older man use him as leverage to stand on unsteady legs.

“I hate blackout magic.” The man muttered, letting go of him once he was safe to stand on his own.

The spell faded quickly. His thoughts were still foggy, but he regained his senses well enough to take in his surroundings. They were in some sort of log building, not quite fully furnished, but constructed in a way that it was obviously meant to be a lasting structure. For a nomadic tribe like the Scourge, that was unusual. They had to be at some semi-permanent, if not permanent, base.

The thought nearly sent a shiver down his spine. This wasn’t the place they had been given the directions to. If anything were to happen, nobody would know where they were. Even if they tried to escape, there was no guarantee they’d find their way back. Especially not when they were on Scourge turf.

Who knew what happened to their carriage and horses either. It would be an impossibly long journey on foot through such treacherous territory. They’d never make it.

He surveyed the scene, the warriors who had knocked them out lined the back of a long hall. He could see the party leader looking positively bored. The druid wolf was nowhere to be seen.

They were in some kind of banquet hall. Long tables and dozens of chairs had been pushed to the walls to clear a wide path down the centre of the room. They were tossed halfway down the hall, between the only exit, guarded by at least 10 visible warriors, and a woman who was emerging from behind a tapestry curtain at the opposite end.

There were tapestries that hung over the log walls, each depicting crude, brutal scenes. There were certain images that seemed to be recurrent though, hordes of beetles carving a path of devastation in their wake. There were images of horses, wolves, and bears, all running for their lives as the beetles left behind the bones of their fallen brethren. It was unsettling to look at, especially when a swath of red caught his eye.

Beside where the woman had come from, he spotted a tapestry that hung over what he assumed to be another doorway. It had been stained a deep, blood red that obscured the tale that had once been stitched into it.

When the curtain fell back into place when the woman walked through, he saw hers was unmarred. It depicted such a dense swarm of the red insects that it looked like a river of blood. Emerging from it was a woman whose eyes were dyed as red as the shells, bloodlust depicted clear on her face as she held her spear high over her head in a battle cry.

The woman in the threads’ gaze was fierce, but it wasn’t nearly as flooring as the real thing.

She stood before them, her posture rigid and tall as she took in the sight of them. There was something predatory in the disapproving scowl she gave as she watched them wobble on their feet like newborn deer.

Despite the age that marked her face, she looked no less deadly than the razor-sharp spear she held. She looked down her nose at them, down the two kohl stripes that trailed from her inner eyes.

She did not look pleased at the sight before her.

“Did you find this one with the caravan?” She asked, her voice assertive in a way that struck fear in his heart. She directed the tip of her spear at him, staring him down with such intensity that Muriel felt himself shrink back as her pale eyes fixed on him.

“No, your highness, that was me,” Petya spoke up, stepping protectively in front of him, “I traveled East with them for a tick, but traded one ragtag group for another to join the Apprentice’s party. The caravan is a week’s journey eastward past your territory by now, no worries there.”

“So,” Her voice dropped as her scowl deepened, “I summon an audience with my dead son’s wife, the so-called Countess of Vesuvia,” she snarled the title, “and she sends an apprentice, two cowards, a Mirth, and a bandit.” Morga trailed down the line of them in her sight, pointing out each party member she named with her weapon.

The way she hissed that word “Mirth” made Muriel assume it was some sort of southern insult.

“Not a bandit, your lordliness, I am merely a humble bard. A musical accompaniment to this mission.”

“That’s worse.” She spat, resting the butt end of the spear on the ground as she brought a hand to her brow. She narrowed her eyes at them as if the whole interaction was giving her a horrible migraine. At first, Muriel wasn’t sure if she was talking about the increasingly odd titles he was using or the downgrade to bard until she continued. “At least a bandit can fight.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Petya said, no hint of apology in his voice.

“Get out of my camp.” She waved them off, her tone final.

The guards looked around at the others, uncertain. Muriel was completely fine with that and he was already halfway turned around towards the exit. He reached for the apprentice to bring them with him, but they suddenly weren’t there. To his horror, he heard the Apprentice step up.

“Morga, leader of the Scourge of the South, do not underestimate us.” They declared, taking a few more steps towards her.

Muriel turned back to see the apprentice standing confidently, their head held high as they addressed her.

Morga merely tilted her chin up and raised a brow.

“We have travelled far to accept your invitation. You could hold the cure to the plague, and yet you deny us because you believe us to be below you. Would you really withhold that, sacrificing countless lives in the process, for the sake of your pride?”

There was absolute silence in the hall. Nobody dared breathe, all eyes were on Morga.

The hand on her spear twitched, tightening her grip.

“I don’t think you understand what kind of tribe this is, kid.”

In a flash, she rushed the apprentice, impossibly fast as she swung the staff of her weapon out, knocking them off their feet before anyone could react. She kicked her knee out, forcing them onto the ground with it. She flipped the spear in a blur of motion, stopping it with the sharp end resting at their exposed neck as she half-kneeled over their prone form.

The impact knocked the breath out of them and the wheeze of air they tried to drag back into their lungs caused their throat to rise into the edge of the spear, slicing the skin to draw blood.

Muriel is already moving.

“Don’t–” Morga hissed at the apprentice, but she was cut off short before Muriel even reached her.

He felt the humming in the air first before a loud crack rang through the lodge like thunder.

A burst of pure energy from the apprentice’s outstretched hand threw Morga nearly clear across the room, sending her tumbling in the air. She managed to whip herself around by the time she hit the ground again, sliding backwards when she landed but maintaining her footing. She dug her free hand like a claw into the wooden floor, tearing up splinters as she slowed herself to a stop. Her spear was already poised, ready to strike again.

Muriel was stunned for a moment, gawking at the apprentice’s magic. He shook himself out of it though, before Morga could strike again.

He grabbed the apprentice pulled them up as they still gasped for breath. Promptly, he pulled them behind him, shielding them with his body as he faced off Morga. He was weaponless, but he’d won fights with just his hands before, and he wasn’t about to let her touch them again.

It took him a moment to see past the red that had clouded his vision as he embraced the rage ignited from her daring to attack them. Morga, for some reason, seemed to abandon her offensive position. As she stood, she returned to her regal pose.  She looked at him with something that Muriel could only describe as a bemused snarl.  

“Not horrible.” She straightened, tilting her head to address the apprentice, who’s head was peeking out from behind him. “You have decent power, but you lack discipline, apprentice. Your master must be lazy, weak, or both.”

Muriel’s glare deepened at the remark. He didn’t trust this woman, and she wasn’t doing anything to improve that sentiment.

“We have a trainer here,” she continued, as if she hadn’t just tried to kill them. “She could shape you into a fighter, make you useful.”

Muriel, still holding the apprentice behind him, began making a slow retreat, never taking his eyes off the woman.

“Speaking of fighters.” Morga shifted her gaze back to him, he froze. “That’s the look of a warrior who knows what it’s like to fight for his life. It’s refreshing to see, there have been too many cowards and brats in this camp lately.” She almost seemed pleased. She motioned to Ludovico & Bludmila, “You two, take note.”

The two guards, as if reacting instinctively to authority, gave brisk nods.

She didn’t move from where she stood, heeding the warning in his glare. 

“There are some empty sleeping quarters past the training grounds.” She said after a moment of deliberation, looking between the Muriel and what she could see of the apprentice. “Settle in for the night.”

With that, they were dismissed.

 

 

The warriors came to quickly escort them back out, their expressions blank until they were out of the hall.  

Muriel kept a hold of the apprentice and didn’t take his eyes off Morga until she was out of his line of sight. Even then, he didn’t let the apprentice go.

Once they were all out of ear shot of the banquet hall, it was like a wall had fallen from the warriors’ faces. Some of them cheered, some gaped openly at the apprentice.

“That was incredible!” one of the younger looking ones exclaimed, coming up to the apprentice. They tried to grab their shoulders, but Muriel pulled them close, not letting anyone near. The glare that hadn’t left his face since Morga’s attack seemed to be enough to deter any more advances.

“Never in my life have I seen anybody get a hit like that in on Morga.” The party leader from before shook her head in disbelief. “And now she’s letting you sleep in the camp! She really must have really thought low of you guys if she’s so impressed by you now.”

“Impressed?” The apprentice asked, having to wiggle out of Muriel’s grasp to turn and look at her.

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen her kill people for much, much less. She was testing you, and you passed with flying colours. If you hadn’t, she would’ve gotten us to knock you out again and drag you all out to some remote location for the night. I’ll admit, I’m glad you guys did so well, that was hard work getting you all here. Somehow, we kept almost forgetting the big guy, we nearly left him behind.” She chuckled, giving him a strangely friendly smile.

Muriel fixed his glare on her after being reminded of what happened to get there.

“Even if she was testing you though, she went easy on you. Normally when she rushes someone like that, she doesn’t halt her blade.”

“I think she knew it would have caused a lot of trouble with Vesuvia,” Ludovico chimed in, seeming to settle in fine with the warriors. In fact, neither of the guards looked particularly tense or, well, guarded. “We’re an inquisition appointed by the Countess herself, after all.”

The group nearly cackled at that.

“Morga wouldn’t care about some prissy _Countess_ sending Vesuvians to come defend her honour or whatever it is you people do.” The woman continued, strapping her circular weapons to her hips. “In fact, I wouldn’t put it past her to do it just so we could have a little fun. Bless our floors with some international blood, you know?”

“I can’t say I do know, no.” The apprentice laughed nervously, “But what happens now? Is she going to talk to us tomorrow?”

“I’d imagine you’ll have to work harder to get her to open up. Morga isn’t exactly known for her forthrightness.”

“Yeah, we still don’t know what exactly happened to Prince Monty.” One of the other warriors pouted.

“I heard that she sent him off so he couldn’t challenge her leadership after he defeated his father.”

“You’ve been talking to Luxx too much.” the party leader spat, “He’ll put all sorts of ideas like that in your head.”

“Well it’s true.” They grumbled, but they didn’t challenge her further.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the other side of the camp. Muriel observed the route carefully, taking note of all the buildings he could see. Each were constructed without much real care, they were all done like log cabins, whole trunks stacked on top of each other without any paint or décor. The entire camp was surrounded by walls of logs lodged in the dirt, pointing upwards with tips sharpened to dangerous points.

None of the buildings looked like homes either, they each seemed to have a purpose. All the sleeping quarters looked like military barracks. Maybe they were.

 

 

The party left them at the entrance of the long lodge where they were to stay.

“Don’t get into too much trouble, or you’ll get to see these babies in action.” The lead said with a wink, tapping the rings at her hip before waving them off.

It was the furthest building from the centre of the camp and their rooms were down at the end of a long corridor of curtained doorways, much like the ones in hall earlier.

These ones told less gruesome tales, at least.  

Once they got to their rooms, Muriel finally let go, realizing a little shamefully he probably had been holding on a little too tight. So much for keeping a distance, he guessed.

He took a step back, but kept an eye on them. He was subtly trying to find any sign of injury other than the thin scabbed slice on their neck when the apprentice flashed him a smile.

“I’m alright Muriel, honestly.” They assured, “I was a little shaken up, but I feel fine, she didn’t really hurt me. It worked though, we get to stay.”

“Why did you do that.” He grumbled. Still unconvinced that they weren’t hiding any injuries from him, he shuffled closer again.

“I…” they trailed off as their eyes met and they just blinked up at him for a second. Shaking their head and looking away, they continued. “I just couldn’t leave without knowing. If this really is linked to the plague and it could come back… then there are so many innocent lives at stake.” Their breath hitched, but their resolve was steady “I can’t fail them. I won’t.”

“She hurt you. She could have…” Muriel didn’t want to finish that sentence, he reached up, intending to touch the red line on their throat, but he caught himself before he did.

“I told you, I’m okay.” Then a glint came to their eyes, their voice taking on a playful tone, “Besides, I had my big, strong bodyguard come to my rescue.”

“Stop that.” He insisted, but his blush gave him away.

They laughed but didn’t push him further.

“Thank you, Muriel.” They said in earnest. Taking a step towards him, “You put yourself in harm’s way for me, and I can’t thank you enough for that. But, I don’t want you to be in danger either.” Their face fell, “I can’t even imagine what I would do if you got hurt because of me. I can be impulsive, I know, but I don’t want you to take the consequence for my actions, I refuse to be like that now.”

His heart was in his throat as he heard their voice tremble. Before he could swallow it back down to give any sort of response, Petya gave an exaggerated cough from beside them. They both jumped, realizing how close the two had gotten to each other as they talked.

“Well folks, I hate to interrupt, but I’ve got updates for you. We’ve been given a generous haul of supplies, but between the two rooms we’re short a bed.” He came up to the apprentice, swinging an arm around their shoulders, “but I’ll have you now I’m a world-famous cuddler, so if either of you are interested in snuggling up with old Petya, just let me know.”

They laughed, playfully poking him in the ribs.

He gave them another wink before continuing, “Well, the Bun and the Deer have already claimed one of the rooms, so looks like you and Shadow will be taking the other one. I myself have already found a particularly cozy spot just outside the entrance.”

“Won’t you be cold?”

He waved off their concern before he spotted the red mark over their throat. “Oh dear, let me get that for you.” He traced it delicately with his index finger, the scab disappearing without a trace as he ran it over the mark. “See? I’m more than just a pretty face around here.”

“Thanks, Petya.” They smiled, rubbing the spot where the cut had been.

“Alright now, I’d be careful around here you two. You’ve brought a lot of attention to yourselves so the people here are going to be real interested in what you’re capable of. They seem like the type of people who like a challenge so I wouldn’t be surprised if people are going to try and rile you guys up, try instigate a fight, that type of thing.”

“We will.”

“And stick together, I don’t think it would be safe for either of you to go off on your own.”

Muriel narrowed his eyes at the old bard, trying to see if this was all just some ploy from him, but as bemused he seemed at the prospect, there was genuine concern there too. He sighed, realizing he was right. He went to stay something, but someone interrupted before he could.

“ _Morga has sent a wolf.”_

The three of them whipped around, coming face-to-face with the cloaked figure from earlier. The one who had knocked them all unconscious.

Muriel stepped out in front of the other two, bracing himself for whatever tricks they would try this time.

“ _Not for you_.” Their voice seemed to echo in his mind, layered in a way that no single body should be able to sound. It was if they where whispering and yelling all at once, voice both shrill and deep, sonorous and raspy.

“ _Power without control. It is a danger._ ”

At that, the apprentice stepped out around him, placing a hand on his arm to assure him.

The one golden eye of the wolf pelt followed their motion.

“Are you the trainer Morga was talking about?”

“ _The druid knows many spells. She may be a trainer if an apprentice is willing to learn._ ” With that the they spun on their heel, turned around completely before walking forward, leaving without ever looking back to check is they were following.

The apprentice looked up at him, worrying their lip.

“I think I should go with them.”

He was about to interject but they raised a hand and kept going.

“Morga sent her to me to train me. If I refuse, it could be read as an insult. Also, I don’t really want to pass up this opportunity, how often does a magician get to learn from an actual druid?”

Muriel felt the corners of his lips tug downwards. Asra had tried, and they nearly killed him.

He didn’t trust this wolf.

“I know I said I was going to keep my distance, but…” They trailed off, looking like they were nervously looking for the right words.

“I’m coming with you.”

They nodded, relief in their eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Petya flash him a grin and give him two thumbs up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would pay good money for a Morga romance tale in the game  
> I am realizing now that I could just write it myself, but it just wouldn't be the same :(


	20. The Wolf Among Us

The druid brought them to a crude training ring just a short walk away from their sleeping quarters. The dirt underneath had been pounded down, flattening it to solid ground. It was much smaller than the Coliseum had been, but Muriel supposed that was to be expected.

Surrounding it was a low, wooden fence with a gate. Muriel was reluctant to leave the apprentice, but as the trainer opened the gate for them enter, she did not welcome him in as well. Instead, once the apprentice was through, she closed it pointedly behind them.

He took to the side, finding a spectator’s bench that was still close enough to the ring that he should be able to hop the fence get to the apprentice in just a couple of strides if needed.

The druid’s movements were strange, to say the least. She walked with very precise steps, moving in straight lines, never veering from her path unless she paused to turn. Then, she would continue on her march forward.

The wolf pelt she wore cloaked her entire figure, obscuring any defining features from view. It was hard to even get a good concept of things like her height. There must have been magic involved because even looking directly at her, it seemed like she wasn’t really there. She shifted in and out of his vision. Things about her just seemed vague to his eye.

At the other side of the ring, she stopped just before a pole that looked to be for hanging weapons. Standing perfectly still, she reached up with one arm and grabbed the pelt under the hood at her forehead. Slowly pulling it off, the magic that surrounded her seemed to flicker, before fading entirely as she severed the their connection. Shaking her head slightly, as if to clear it, she hung the pelt up delicately.

Now that Muriel could see her, he realized that she only reached up with one arm because she only had the one.  Her skin was as scarred as his was, with pale stripes that had been gouged into her body, the largest being around the bottom of her left arm. From where the limb ended abruptly before her elbow, the entire base of it gleamed white with the scar tissue, tendrils of it trailing back up to her shoulder.

She wasn’t dressed like a Scourge member, there was no kohl on her face. She wore a yellow, silk scarf tied over her eyes. Peeking out from under it was another large scar that mirrored the one on the wolf pelt.

“While we are in this ring, I am your trainer.” She said as followed her steps back to the centre of the ring. With the blindfold on, Muriel realized she must have been walking like that to count her steps. Her voice sounded normal now too. It kept its harsh tone, but there was no more unsettling layering to it.

When she stopped, she stood exactly where she had been before.

“What should I do?” The apprentice asked, glancing over at him on the sidelines.

“Attack me.”

“I…” They looked down at their hands, looking unsure.

“There is no need to hesitate in attacking me, I am surely safe against an amateur such as yourself.” She hissed out. Muriel guessed that was something she had to defend herself on often.

“No, no, it’s not that, I swear. I-I don’t know how.”

“You attacked Morga with your power. Do not lie to me.”

“I was defending myself, it was purely instinct. I don’t know how to replicate it.”

“So you are more undisciplined than I was advised.” She sighed, considering their next steps. “What magic can you do?”

“I do divination, mostly. I read cards.”

“Cards are useful for strategies, but not in combat. You will find the prior does not hold much value among the Scourge. If you are hoping to gain Morga’s favour, then you must leverage it for the latter. Proficiency in divination means you’re a listener, you are able to project and flow your magic outwardly to search for your answers. Use that projection but manifest it as a sword rather than an ear.”

“Okay… I’ll try.” They closed their eyes and took a deep breath. Eventually, the hum of the air even reached out to where he sat. They were pouring their magic out, but as the minutes passed, no attack came.

Eventually they stopped, breathing heavily as they hunched forward, resting their hands on their knees. Sweat ran down their face as they apologized to the trainer.

“You have decent reach.” She said simply. “Your instincts know how to direct your magic, listen to them, just like you did in the hall.”

The trainer, despite the harshness of her voice, seemed to have endless patience. This dragged on for quite some time. Again and again, the apprentice would try and direct an attack her way, but nothing of note would manifest. Once, they got a couple of sparks to pop in the air, but that was about it.

They switched gears, trying to have more incentive by imitating an actual fight. They circled each other, moving to strike each other with wooden swords in hand. The apprentice didn’t have experience in swordplay either, but she said that would be more to their advantage, they wouldn’t rely too heavily on the physical sword.

The trainer would land blow after blow on the apprentice, whose job it was to repel their attacks with magic. Muriel tried several times to interject but they insisted that he let them do this.

It wasn’t doing his heart any favours seeing them get hit repeatedly like this. The trainer didn’t hold back.

The apprentice began to shed the winter clothes as they kept trying. Eventually, they were down to their inner layers. Their shirt plastered to them from the sweat of their exhaustion.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away as they twisted away to dodge another blow, the intensity in their eyes and the grit of their teeth as they tried to get back at her. The flex of their arms, the glistening of their sweat-slick skin in the midday light as they reared back their own wooden sword, all of it was captivating.

The rush of power they sent in the air as they grew more frustrated was almost intoxicating.

The growing blush that rose on Muriel’s face and quickening of his pulse made him feel indecent watching them. He swallowed and shook his head, trying to focus.

Any time he dared glance back at the apprentice, it only brought the blush back harder.

In fact, as they would grunt with the force of an attack they deflected, or give a low moan of pain when she landed another hit, his breath would catch in his throat. Listening to their heavy panting from the exhaustion, he felt positively lewd.

This was not good. It was disrespectful of him to watch them like that. With all of his effort, he instead stared so hard at the trainer he felt like he was boring holes in her. It was the only way to stop his gaze from drifting back to the apprentice.

He hoped it would come off as a warning to stop hurting them rather than what it was: a desperate need for a distraction.

As if feeling the intensity on her, she inclined her head to him slightly. It seemed to give her an idea.

In a split second, the trainer broke the rehearsed formation of battle training. Instead, she jumped back and launched herself over the fence.

Directly at him.

“No!” The apprentice yelled out.

The air around him electrified. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as the saw the wooden blade coming towards him, too fast for him to react, only for the trainer to be violently pushed to the ground and dragged back into the ring by some unseen force.

They stood over the prone figure of the trainer, who seemed to be fighting against some oppressive weight that kept them down.

“Do not touch him.” They spoke carefully, their anger barely contained behind each syllable.

With that, the druid stopped struggling, and with a flick of her hand, easily dissolved whatever magic held her down. She got up and dusted herself off before speaking.

“Again.”

“What?” They held the wooden sword threateningly.

“You just did it. Now, do it again or else I will have to involve the Mirth once more.” She motioned to him, surprisingly nonchalant for how violently she had just been tossed around.

“Oh…” The fire in their eyes seemed to die down as they fully realized what just happened. “Okay, let me try it.”

It took them a couple of tries, but eventually, they were able to blow the sword out of the trainer’s hand when she swung it at them.

She almost smiled.

The apprentice looked exhausted, nearly collapsing with the effort.

“Improvement.” She nodded. “Don’t expend any more energy, but practice having a mental grasp of how to summon your magic like that.”

With that, the trainer ended the session.

The apprentice, in relief, let themselves drop onto the ground, pumping their fists in the air and laughing as they caught their breath.

Muriel went into the ring then, helping them get back onto their feet.

“You will be no use to Morga if you cannot even stand.” She hummed as she handed her sword to him as well.

The trainer paused, head bowing before she spun around to face the direction of her cloak, walking over to go grab it. She swung it around and lowered it, having it engulf her in the shaggy, dark fur.

She led them out of the training area wordlessly until they reached the exit of the grounds.

“ _Be wary._ ” She warned as the two of them walked past, “ _Not all are welcome here._ ”

“Should we make allies then?” they asked, looking up at him.

“ _Tension brews. An ally with one means an enemy in the other._ ”

When they turned back to ask another question, she was gone.

 

 

Muriel slowed his walk to match the exhausted pace of the apprentice. After a moment’s consideration, he reached out his arm for support.

They gave him one of those bright smiles and thanked him, leaning on it for support as they carried forward.

That telltale warmth in his veins spread at their closeness, their gentle touch on his arm a reassurance that they were there, that they were okay.

He was taking them back to the barracks so Petya could heal the bruises that littered their skin when they were stopped abruptly.

There was a group of three, all Scourge. They were older, maybe only several years Morga’s junior. They were led by a man who was dressed more finely than the other two. A lavish décor that could have been fitting at one of Lucio’s masquerades, save for the belt weighed down by over a dozen ornamented, but very sharp looking daggers that hung from it.

In fact, the man had an air about him that was distinctly Lucio-esque. The same smug smile and pointed features.

He looked down at them. Not in the same way Morga did though. Where Morga’s gaze conveyed nothing but unquestionable authority, his was mocking. There was an ego written as clearly on his face as the two thick, black kohl lines that completely covered his eyes and reached from his brows to his jaw.

He was tall, but not as tall as Muriel. This didn’t seem to please him much as he scowled up at him.

“So, I guess we’re just letting anybody in now, huh.” One from the entourage spoke up, glaring between the two of them.

“With our soft-hearted leader, a sob story can get any weakling into our camps.” The man spat before jabbing a finger at them. “Your only saving grace is that you were Lucio’s people, but don’t fool yourselves into thinking you’re safe here.”

“Wait Luxx, you're saying they’re Monty’s?” the third person asked.

“Morga summoned Vesuvians, these are them.”

“Are we negotiating an alliance?”

“I don’t know. There’s something fishy going on here and I don’t like it.” Luxx said, straightening his posture to try and stand as tall as possible. “Sleep with one eye open.”

With that, the man turned on his heel and stalked off, trailed by the other two, who sent sour looks over their shoulders at them.

After a beat of silence, the apprentice tightened their grip on his arm. Without thinking, he pulled them closer to his side.

“I think we need to win Morga over as fast as possible,” they breathed. “I don’t want to spend a moment here longer than necessary.”

He agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just noticed that in my compiled backup word doc thingy we're over 100 pages! This is officially the longest thing I've ever written, doubling the length of 2nd place: the int'l business law thesis final paper I did a few months ago. This is way more fun to write. There's no fun lil romances in cyberlaw jurisdictional precedents and practices, unless you count the lawyers/lawmakers flirting with idea of classifying it as international space (ooh, scandalous!).  
> Fun fact: I wrote the first chapter of this fic because I was so stressed out over that paper & wanted to procrastinate.


	21. Lorelai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's daily installment of me getting a little too involved in my OC's stories but it's important, i swear

After leaving the apprentice back at the sleeping quarters so Petya could tend to their bruises, Muriel took the rest of the day to explore the campgrounds.

There were more Scourge here than he could count and the place was larger than it seemed. The log furnishings housed barracks, training grounds, several bathhouses, and even a couple of taverns. It was more like a small town than a base. He couldn’t find any way out of the walls that surrounded it. There seemed to be only one gate and it was heavily guarded.

He tried to stick to the shadows, but he seemed to draw more attention here than he was used to. When they caught sight of him, they would stare or even try to approach. Sometimes they would point and whisper to their companions. Most of them had been briefed that there would be newcomers around camp, but that didn’t stop them from trying to question his snooping.

Some of them would jeer or send taunts when they saw him, not unlike how people would react before he got his gift. Upon seeing him, there was certainly intrigue, but for some there was also fear. Some of these Scourge members seemed to be cautious of him. The younger ones would try and hide it. They’d put on a brave face but if Muriel caught their eye, he could see their fear.

The whole situation was deeply uncomfortable for him. It put him back in a place where he never wanted to be again. Even though they forgot him as soon as he ducked around a corner, the next Scourge member would look at him the exact same way.

He knew that getting intel on the camp layout was important, but by the evening, it got to a point where he found himself nearly racing back to their rooms. He didn’t want to be out alone with these people for a moment longer.

He made his way down the long hall, his heartbeat slowing back down as he was out of the sight of the tribe. He heard Bludmila’s boisterous laughter from one of the rooms they had been assigned, so he went to go into the other.  

As his hand reached out to the curtain tapestry, he froze.

He was to share the room with the apprentice. What if they were in there?

A thousand more questions ran through his head as he stared at the detailed needlework in front of him. There were so many uncertainties between them.

They had tried to keep their distance, thinking it was the best course of action. Much like a rubber band though, it seemed that keeping the ends too far apart would only have them snap back together. That’s what it had felt like since they had gotten into camp.

Muriel hadn’t really considered how he was supposed to guard them when they were both trying to stay as far apart as humanly possible. He had trusted his protective instincts when he navigated the camp with them, but that also meant keeping a close proximity. Forgetting the agreement of distance for the sake of the mission was the momentum that caused the snap back together: they had essentially walked arm in arm back to camp after training.

The thought brought a bit of a blush to his face. They had been weakened, sure, but there was an intimacy to the way they held his arm as they made their way back. He may have imagined it, but it almost felt like they had snuggled into his side.

Before his mind could wander further, he gave a couple of raps on the doorframe. When there was no answer, he tentatively peeked in.

The room was cozy, to say the least. It was close to the size of his hut, but the two beds were surprisingly large and plush, covered with pelt blankets.

At first, there was a relief that the room was empty, but then the fear sunk in at their absence. Where could they have gone to?

Looking around for any clues as to where they could have gone, a flash of purple caught his eye. Resting on the pillow of the bed closest to the doorway was another envelope, his name written in large letters on the front.

 

_Dear Muriel,_

_Don’t fret, I’m sticking with Petya. A couple of the Scourge members tried to pay us a visit… I put up wards, but I figured it was probably best to lay low for a while._

_Petya also got me all patched up, so no need to worry about those bruises from training either._

_Thanks for sticking by my side. I know it’s complicated and that you probably wanted to keep the past days’ distance, but I want you to know that I really appreciate this._

_Yours truly,_

 

Muriel replaced the letter back in the envelope before heading back out, around the side of the building to find the spot Petya said he found earlier.

The evenings here in the Southlands didn’t last long, it was like one moment there was still the warmth of the sun in the sky, and the next moment was devoid of it. As the darkness of the night settled, a chill had taken to the air, one that even he found himself shivering at.

He wrapped his pelt tighter around himself as he walked over, spotting the boxes that Petya had set his furs up beside, obscuring himself from the view of the tribe. As he approached, he overheard Petya’s and the apprentice’s voices. They were soft, but he could sort of make out what they were saying.

“I force my hand to my side, but the second I’m distracted it reaches again.” They sighed, “Petya, I don’t want to push him but… I think I can’t help myself.”

“Be patient with him, Apprentice. He’s got a heart of gold.” He gave a breathy laugh, “Dense, dense gold.”

“I just don’t want to scare him off.”

“He’s come a long way, but there’s still a journey to go. Maybe you can join him on his as he joined yours.”

Muriel, heart pounding again, shuffled as he walked, intentionally trying to kick up sand and debris to announce his approach. The two caught on right away and the apprentice jumped up, eyes wide.

“Muriel! You’re back.” They smiled, but there was an awkwardness. “I, uh, I have go back to the room now. It was nice talking to you Petya, thanks bye!”

With that, they gave a brisk wave to them before dashing off back to the quarters. Muriel turned to follow, but Petya spoke up.

“We already placed wards and such all around the rooms, they’ll be safe Shadow.” He assured before patting the spot where the apprentice had sat. “Would you mind keeping an old bard company? I’ve got a tale that I’ve been itching to tell.”

Muriel looked back over to the retreating figure of the apprentice, frowning at the stiff line of their shoulders.

“I’ll keep it short.” The old man smiled up at him, batting his eyelashes.

Damn puppy-dog eyes.

Muriel took a seat beside him, still with enough room between them for comfort though. If the bard minded, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he hummed, leaning back and relaxing in his own spot before starting his story.

“Many years ago, on the coast of the Salty Sea, a band of musicians would entertain the sailors and merchants that visited our Nevivon shores. I joined their ranks when I was quite young, equipped with nothing but my wit and my lute. There was a woman there, Lorelai, who sang with a voice fit for a siren. I would play with her and she would sing with me, it was magical, truly.

“Little did I know that such a magnificent woman such as herself had fallen for that signature Petya charm.” He gave a playful wink at Muriel, “But I think I told you, it took me far too long to realize.

“I was going through a lot at that time. I was young and foolhardy, so certain that my problems were my burden to carry alone that I rejected the luck of being surrounded by loving friends. Not everyone is so fortunate, and yet I turned them away. The only one who didn’t leave was Lorelai.

“I don’t blame the others, though. They had their own lives to lead, and I was so frustrated at myself that I took it out on them. I’m ashamed to admit that I was not a good person then. I was mean, and I was bitter, but I was trying. It was Lorelai who made me realize that: that no matter how frustrated or upset I was with myself, I was trying to improve. She always had a saying for everything, you know.

‘The sky is always darkest before the dawn,’ she told me, and she was right. There was a dawn just over the horizon. It was bright and beautiful, and best of all, it was with her.”

Petya stretched out a hand in front of them both. Off the distant torchlight that lined the walkways, Muriel could see the glint of light shine off a golden band around his ring finger.

“She told me early on that she wanted to marry me. Deep down, I knew I wanted the same thing, but…” He sighed, “I didn’t think I could really open up to her because of where I was, mentally. I wanted to be my best self for her, even though I didn’t know what that meant then. I felt she deserved better and didn’t want her to get hung up on some miserable fool like me.

“A day came when I couldn’t hold back anymore. My love for her patience, her kindness, her generosity, all of it, it was overflowing. And, instead of sharing this with her, you know what I did? I begged her to leave. To move on, to go find some other person who would actually be deserving of her love.

“Stubborn Lorelai, she didn’t listen. She asked why, so I told her something my gran used to tell me: ‘tidy the house before you bring guests over,’ you know what I mean? I thought I needed to get myself right before I learned to love.

“She just smiled and took my hand, saying ‘Petrina,’ – I was Petrina then, you see – ‘I don’t want to be a guest, I want to be your wife. I want to live with you in that house, and then we can tidy our messes together. Many hands make light work.’

“It still took a while for it to set in, but I realized after what my mistake was. I had this loving soul at my side who was so willing and eager help. As capable as I might have been to eventually handle it on my own, I was really just denying myself the love I didn’t think I deserved. Even if it hadn’t worked out, there was no sense in going through my transition alone when I had good people around me, willing to lend their love. A love that eventually helped me carry the weight of my burdens and helped me to grow.

“I told you my greatest regret, right? That I guarded my heart too closely. It was a mistake that cost me years of happiness with my wonderful wife.” Petya brought his hand to his lips, kissing the ring. “Now, I’m on my way back home, to be put to rest beside her.”

“I-I’m sorry.” Muriel’s voice wavered, unsure of how to respond. He hadn’t been expecting such a personal tale. There was something raw about the words Petya spoke, how honest and open he was being with him.

“It was my own mistake, Shadow.” His voice was soft, and he looked over at him. “You know, I didn’t just ask you to sit with me so I could talk your ear off. If you want to be sorry for me, then learn from me.”

Muriel met his eyes.

“You never know how long someone will be in your life, my boy.”

His words sent a shiver down his spine. His mind’s eye flashed back to the Lazaret.

“Make each day count, there’s no sense in denying yourself happiness, whether you think you may deserve it or not. Even if it hurts later, you’ll never regret the good days.”

Muriel shrunk into himself, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. This was a lot. There was too much to consider and Petya’s words rang too true. It struck dissonant chords in him, rising the hope that maybe… he could stop denying himself.

Maybe he could allow himself to embrace that glowing warmth in his chest.

Was there really any use to keeping a distance? He couldn’t even remember the reason for it now, he was too busy entertaining the idea of such a love as Petya had.

He was imagining a world where he didn’t have to stop the reach of his hand as it ached for the touch of theirs. That he could hold them close without regret or hesitation, to keep them safe in his arms. Even that he could take that leap of faith to lean forward as they brushed his hair back, to plant his lips over theirs.

How wonderful it could feel. The touch of them, being engulfed in the warmth of their bright smile, of their embrace.

The rush of emotion was staggering. His heart pounded loud in his ears as the floodgates of his restrained heart opened. He hadn’t fully realized all he had been holding back, but now that he thought about it, there was nothing he wanted more.

Petya stayed quiet, staring up at the stars as he let the younger man process.

As he calmed himself down, sense and rationality finally came back to him. There were a number of holes in this fantasy of his.

Firstly, the apprentice had only asked to be friends. He was the one projecting a romance onto the whole situation.

Secondly, there was no denying it, he was a murderer. Petya’s story may have mirrored his own feelings to an extent, but there was still the weight of his sins on his shoulders. He would never dare burden the apprentice with them.

He must have visibly grimaced because Petya gave a deep sigh.

“Shadow, normally this is the type of thing that would be left to the whims of fate, but each day is a danger here.”

“What?”

“I can’t bear to see you walk the same path that I did. It may not be my place to say, but it’s no secret that Apprentice cares about you. They’ve got patience and a kind heart, and they could love you if you let them. Quite frankly, I think you’re a fool if you leave that one hanging.”

Muriel nearly reeled back at that. Instead though, he turned around slightly, putting Petya out of his line of sight. He hugged himself tighter, trying to supress the swell of his heart at his words.

“How do I find the right path?”

“I don’t know how to find the right one, but you can find a better one.” He said simply, leaning forward on his knees to be able to catch Muriel’s eye. “Stop having them chase shadows. Be there for them. Be Muriel.”

Minutes passed. Muriel considered, he deliberated, and he processed. He felt like he was circling again, but there was a growing confidence that hadn’t been there before.

Making up his mind, he inclined his head to the bard, who had taken up stargazing again.

“Thanks.”

“The pleasure is mine, Muriel.” The seriousness of the conversation seemed to have bled out, and he gave one of his signature lop-sided grins. “I’ll take first watch. You go to bed, you’ve done enough guarding.”

 

 

Muriel gave a couple of light raps on the doorframe again, waiting to hear anything from inside.

“Come in!” the apprentice called.

Slipping past the tapestry, he saw them sitting up on the bed they had claimed earlier. They had changed into their sleeping clothes

Looking at them, their bright eyes that always seemed to find a way to warm his heart, he knew he wouldn’t be able to voice his revelation aloud. Spotting the purple envelope on his pillow, he got an idea.

He shuffled over to the side of the bed, where his minimal belongings and rations had been placed. He easily grabbed the paper and quill they had given him before.

The apprentice watched curiously but didn’t speak as he set the supplies on the bed. He was never good at coming up with words on the spot, so he just wrote what came to mind.

 

_I’ve changed my mind._

_Friends?_

_-M_

It almost seemed childish, passing notes about friendship across to them. He had considered elaborating on how much more he had started to feel, but his natural weariness told him to reserve himself.

When they read over the little note though, all his worries melted away.

They gasped, letting the paper slip between their fingers as they gazed up at him.

A slow smile crept across their features until they were beaming at him.

“Friends.” They breathed, both an answer to his question and a whisper to themselves in amazement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lorelai's story is based mostly on this beautiful song that I got the privilege of seeing live not too long ago.  
> [Grow as We Go](https://youtu.be/aDeNQNtW1f8?t=20) by Ben Platt  
> Definitely recommend giving it a listen, I was imagining it as a song that Petya would have written about Lorelai, and then a song the apprentice could sing to Muriel if this was a musical lol. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I think either this chapter or the next chapter will be the last of the daily updates. Things are picking up, but I'm so thankful for all the love this fic has gotten and I promise to finish it, it'll just be in my own time.


	22. Night Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashing back, back, back again

“Can I ask you something?”

Muriel nodded.

“Did Petya make you do it?” They asked as they reached down to pick his note back up. “I’ll admit, I may have been talking to him about you, I hope he didn’t coerce you into doing this for my sake.”

“No.” Muriel shook his head, “He told me a story and I made the decision myself.”

“Oh…” They trailed off, redness starting to dust their cheeks. “Well, thank you Muriel.”

They gently folded the letter shut and placed it on top of their things. Crawling back under the covers, they curled up to get comfortable.

Muriel got back up to set his pelt cloak aside, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the apprentice shiver under the blankets.

“Ugh, why is it so cold in the south.” They complained, their voice muffled as they wrapped themselves up tighter in the blanket.  

Muriel looked over at them, a bundle of fur tucked in on themselves. His grip tightened on his hold on his pelt before deciding what he needed to do. Walking around the bed, he wordlessly held it out to them. In the light of the oil lantern in the room, he noticed that it still held some hint of stray glitter caught in the rough tufts.

“Oh, won’t you be cold on your watch?” They asked, reaching up to take it from him gratefully. As he let go of it though, the apprentice nearly toppled off the bed as they tried to hold the weight of it in one hand. “Wow, that was a lot heavier than I was expecting.”

With a light chuckle, they pulled it up over themselves, sighing contently.

“Thanks.” They mumbled after a beat of silence.

Muriel was never comfortable with relying on the others for night duty. Especially not after the first night that Bludmila fell asleep at her post. He took one shift every night, despite the group’s insistence that he sleep.

He had always been fine on a lack of it, and he would often doze on the back of the carriage anyways to try and avoid the motion sickness. Now that they were in the camp though, he would have to keep his wits about him at all hours of the day. There wouldn’t be time to catch up on missed sleep, so they would hopefully just be able to get out of the camp as soon as possible.

In the meantime, though, that meant that if someone else was guarding, he couldn’t waste a moment without sleeping if he was to be rested enough to protect them. As much as his heart nagged at him to keep the light conversation going, to try and see them smile again, he knew begrudgingly that sleep was his priority.  

He sat on the bed and began unstrapping the belts of leather across his chest, stripping down to just his pants. He neatly folded the green scarf and the other draperies he wore over himself, setting them aside so he could untie and remove his boots. As he leaned forward to do so, he noticed that the apprentice had completely thrown the pelts and everything over their face.

“Let me know when you’re done.” They said from under their shelter.

“What?”

“I’m giving you privacy.”

He nearly laughed.

“I’m not changing, it’s fine.”

“It’s close enough.” They mumbled, sounding oddly bashful.

They still waited until they heard him crawl under the covers before they peeked out from under theirs.

“Good night, my friend.”

“Good night.”

With a flick of their wrist, they extinguished the lantern with their magic and plunged the room into darkness.

 

 

As Muriel laid there, listening to the even breathing of an already-asleep apprentice, his mind went over the events of the day. There was an anxiety, certainly, about the whole situation, but it was vastly overshadowed by the warmth that seemed to spread through his entire being. It was elating to embrace it.

As the tugs of exhaustion pulled him into unconsciousness, he held on to that warmth and took it down into his dreams with him.

They weren’t magical, his dreams, but it seemed to come from some deep recess of his heart. As unfamiliar as it all seemed to him, something about it felt true, like it was a memory. A memory that held a warmth not unlike what he felt as he drifted to sleep.

“You’re going too fast!” He complained, his voice higher in pitch than he ever remembered it being. He was sitting in a small patch of flowers with another, a girl who was bigger and older than he was, but not by much. The features of her face were fuzzy and vague, as people in dreams tend to be, but he could see the sly smile on her face.

“Then it’s your job to catch up, not mine to slow down.” She said simply.

She moved nimbly, too quickly for him to catch as she weaved the stems together. She braided effortlessly to make a crown adorned with the various flowers she found around her.

In the distance, Muriel could hear the hollering of drunken partygoers. Their celebrations echoing up into the air. The drums of the festivity reverberated the ground he sat on, seeming to shake the whole mountain.

Muriel just blocked it all out, grateful to have been brought out here instead. He was safe here in this peaceful little clearing, and best of all, it was quiet.

He watched intently as she braided. Despite her earlier teasing, she did actualy slow down a bit for him, emphasizing the movements she made as she worked. Muriel plucked a couple of flowers, forget-me-nots, and followed along. His coordination wasn’t very good, and sometimes he would lose hold of one of the delicate stems, but she would give him a smile if she saw him getting frustrated and he would try again.

His crown wasn’t nearly as good as hers, but when it was done, it held together. He gave a delighted laugh, holding it up proudly to show it off to her.

She gasped before taking it gently from him and placing it on his head.

“It is through the power of our great and benevolent gods, divined through me,” She said, imitating a familiar rasping voice and pulling a funny face, “that I declare you Prince Muriel!”

He giggled as he watched her hold her arms out in a ceremonial gesture, giving a slight bow to him.

“If I’m a prince, then you must be the queen!” He took her crown and stood up to be able to place it on her head.

She smiled at him but shook her head no. “Screw being a queen.”

Suddenly, she scooped him up into her arms, causing him to squeal in laughter as she swung him around back and forth, holding him close and in a bone-crushing hug.

When she loosened her grip, letting him pull back to see her face, she gave a wide grin and snarled out, “I’m gonna be the Mama Bear.”

 

 

“Shadow? Wakey-wakey.” Petya’s voice floated through into his dream, dragging him out of it to see the man standing over him, holding a small lantern that cast a golden light over the room.

“Okay.” He grunted, pushing himself up to sit and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Muriel collected his clothes, strapping everything back on and giving one look over at the apprentice’s sleeping figure, where they had curled up under his pelt cloak.

Petya obviously caught that too and gave Muriel an encouraging smile.

He offered his bed to the man, but Petya shook his head. He escorted him back outside, reminding him that he won’t be able to keep an eye on him out there, but the bard insisted that it was fine, so Muriel went back to stand at his post between the two rooms.

Leaning up against the wall, he kept his eye on the other tapestry-curtained rooms down the long hall. There was a chorus of snores that seemed to resonate through the building as their hosts slept. It was enough to put him on edge, they were in a bad position here. If any of the Scourges decided to attack, they’d be cornered. As tired as he might have been, that thought alone kept his sense sharp.

Not long after the start of his shift, he heard some movements from the room where the apprentice slept. His heart caught in his throat, was there someone in there? Maybe the druid wolf, she’d proven her ability to cloak herself the first time they met.

He drew back the curtain in a rush only to see the apprentice standing, holding his pelt around themselves as they were slipping on their shoes.

They startled at the surprise, blinking at him for a moment until they let out a relieved breath.

“Oh, it’s just you.” They gave a small laugh as they made sure their shoes were on properly.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, feeling embarrassed.

“No worries, it’s reassuring to know you’re such an attentive bodyguard.” They laughed, “Anyways, all that training parched me, I’m gonna find some water.”

“Do we not have any here?”

“Nope, I already drank it all when I got back.” They smiled sheepishly. “There’s a tavern not far outside, I figured I could grab some from there.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“What about the others?” They asked as they came up to him, trying to offer his cloak back, but he insisted they wear it given how cold it was out.

Muriel just shrugged at their question. He wasn’t here to protect the guards, the apprentice was his priority.

They shook their head slightly before coming up with an idea.  

“These aren’t foolproof, but it’ll at least be enough to get everyone’s attention in case anyone comes up.” They said as they set up their magical tripwires and alarms outside the rooms.

He nodded, good enough.

“I, uh,” They bit their lip, “I don’t want to push it too far, considering we’ve only just started being friends, but…”

Muriel stared at the hand they extended out to him. They gave a shy sort of smile. When he didn’t accept it immediately though, they started taking it back.

As if he would be able to refuse it now. He reached out and caught it before it dropped back to their side.

It felt right, to hold their soft hand again. It was such a small gesture, but it felt as thought it brought the world down to his perspective, grounding him and making everything around him make sense.

A blush spread across them both as the apprentice intertwined their fingers and gave his hand a satisfied squeeze.

Hand-in-hand, they walked out of the hall.

 

There was only one building still lit at the late hour, so they headed to that. The apprentice tailed him as he led them through shadows, making sure neither of them were seen. As they approached it, a wave of uncertainly washed over him.

“Are you sure about this? Maybe we can find it somewhere else?” He wondered out loud as he heard the bustling noise coming from inside. It seemed far too rowdy for his comfort.

“Everything else would be too far away. Besides, those warriors told us we’d be welcome here if we wanted a drink tonight.”

He was still unsure, but the apprentice didn’t let him hesitate. They were already heading for the entrance.

As they were, though, a couple of figures approaching them caught his eye.

Acting on instinct, he tugged their hand back, ducking them both into a nearby alley. They let out a huff in surprise as they were yanked back, but they caught on quickly, not making another noise as Muriel hid them. He held them close against the wall of the alley’s side, obscuring them from view with his own body.

Neither of them breathed. The tavern may have been advised as a safe place – and even that was taken with a grain of salt since the recommendation was from the people who had kidnapped them earlier that same day – but there was no guarantee anyone out on the streets wouldn’t attack on sight.

The clamouring that followed the two strangers as walked seemed almost intentionally loud. Muriel watched the opening of the alley intently. He made sure that they were out of the reach of the torches’ light, but there was still a reflective glow that would be enough to give them away if they were to draw attention to themselves.

His heart beat loud in his chest, but he could make out a bit of the conversation happening between them.

“ _So the drunkard is a glutton as well._ ” Came a familiar, resonant voice. “ _Even inebriated, she wishes for more. Never satisfied._ ”

“Aw babe, you know I love it when you’re mean to me,” the other crooned with a laugh, her words slurred and far too loud for the otherwise silent street. “And obviously! C’monnn let’s go in.”

“ _Go home._ ”

“Too early for that.” Then, she gasped, “Unless you’re just trying to get into my bed! You dog.” The woman nearly cackled.

“ _Fool_.”

“You’re not denying it~” She sang.

“ _What other bed is the druid to go?_ ”

“You may have forgotten by now, but there _is_ another bed in the room, y’know.” She hummed.

It was then that the two came into view. Matching the voices was the apprentice’s new trainer and a woman Muriel recognized from the party that had brought them in. She was the leader of them, the one with the sharp rings at her hip. The latter stood over a head taller than the druid, but she was so slouched over her that they may as well have been equal. The leader stopped them by the entrance to the tavern.

“ _Would you rather it be used?_ ”

“Never.” She nuzzled into the neck of the other, burying her face in the fur. Although she mumbled into it, Muriel could still make out the rest of what she said. “I told those Vesuvians that they could come by here, I wanna say hi.”

“ _The travellers are not inside. If you wish to give greetings, two lurk in the shadows there.”_

She reached out and pointed a finger directly at them.

“Busted.” The apprentice whispered, their mood seeming to have lightened at the familiar faces.

Muriel realized then what a compromising position he had put them in as he kept watch. He stood protectively over them, pressing them flat against the wall beneath him. One of their hands was still in his, the other trapped between them, braced on his bare chest.

He felt the blush begin to rage on his features as he jumped back, horrified at how he had kept them there like that without realizing it.

The apprentice blushed too, looking up at him almost looking a little dazed as they separated.

By then, the two women had made their way over.

“They know what’s up,” the drunken one laughed, pumping her eyebrows as she tried to give them a suggestive wink. “Hey, maybe we should find our own dark alley, hmm?”

“ _It is dangerous here._ ” The druid ignored the woman who was playfully elbowing her ribs, instead speaking directly to them.

“Wait, wait, wait, when did a Mirth get here?” She squinted at him, leaning forward to try and get a better look but nearly toppling over before the druid caught her.

“ _A powerful spell is at work. Once out of sight, he is out of mind._ ”

“Whu-?”

“You remember him?” The apprentice spoke up, curious.

She nodded.

“ _The druid would forget, but the wolf remembers._ ” She reached up and tapped under the golden eye of her hood. “ _The hawk will remember for her seer too._ ”

“Morga…” they realized, “So it doesn’t work on animals?”

Muriel shook his head no. Neither Inanna nor his chickens ever needed the myrrh.

“I’m still surprised Morga let Vesuvians stay here in camp, especially that big one. After that whole six and two thirds mountains thing she’s always talking about –”

“ _Why are you here?_ ”

“I wanted something to drink.”

“Aw yeah,” the taller one called out, pumping a fist in the air. “Let’s go!”

“Just water.” They clarified sheepishly.

“Eh, to each their own.” She shrugged before turning on her heel and trying to drag the unrelenting druid with her. “Since the big guy is with us, we can start one of those famed mountain parties!

“ _No._ ”

The druid gave what appeared to be a sigh before shrugging the other woman’s grip off of her arm. From how hard she was pulling the druid, the sudden loss of contact sent her right to the ground. The druid didn’t even acknowledge her prone ward and the warrior just laughed.   

“ _Unaccompanied by one of their own, they will not take kindly to you. Especially not to him._ ” They motioned with their head, the golden eye of their hood fixing on him. “ _Do not expect to come out unscathed._ ”

She reached down and dug around in the bag that rested over the drunken woman’s side, before pulling out a plump waterskin.

“ _Take this and keep safe._ ”

“Thank you.” Muriel said as he took it from her. The apprentice nodded as well.

“Y’know, you two look so cute together.” The warrior said as the other woman pulled her back up to her feet. “Ifya want privacy, I’d say go to the bathhouses. Those beds are super creaky. Isn’t that right babe?.”

“ _You pollute the air with your obscenity. Cease it.”_

She gave an exasperated sigh that morphed into another fit of laughter. Muriel couldn’t see the druid’s eyes, but he was sure she was rolling them.

“ _Let’s go back to your accommodation. Though drunk, this Scourge’s presence alone will keep the others away._ ”

The druid was right. They took the direct path back to the barracks and even other, menacing looking groups of Scourge out at this hour would catch sight of the warrior and turn away.

Muriel was beyond grateful for the woman under the wolf pelt as she brought the two of them back directly to their room.

The apprentice bid them all a good night, taking long gulps from the waterskin. He resumed his post but the wolf shook her head.

“ _Rest. You will need it._ ”

“I’m not leaving us vulnerable.”

She sighed, but seemed to understand.

“ _In the coming days, rest is imperative. The wolf will watch._ ”

He began to interject, but she held up her hand to slowly remove her pelt the way she had before in the training ring. She held it up before herself, whispering guttural words in a foreign tongue. Her magic seeped in the air, energizing it with a strangely silky feel that seemed to coat his mind as he stood close.

She let go of the pelt, but it did not drop. Instead, it remained in place in the air where she had held it. The eye of it remained open and fixed straight ahead, guarding their rooms.

The apprentice gave her a grateful smile, thanking her profusely for all her help.

“Too many outsiders have perished inside these walls senselessly. I cannot let it happen again. Meet me in the morning.” She said with a small nod. “Your training resumes at dawn.”

With that, the uncloaked druid wrapped her arm around the half-unconscious warrior and helped lead her off.

The two of them, left standing there, looked curiously at the suspended pelt.

“I guess that means you can finally get a full night’s sleep.” The apprentice said softly, coming to stand beside him, offering the waterskin to him.

He considered the thought for a moment. He hadn’t trusted the druid at first, but now he wasn’t so sure. There was a solidarity in her voice as she spoke to them, a genuine desire to see them all safe. He was embarking on a journey of learning to be more trusting and more open, maybe the first step to that was being more receptive to help.

A sigh escaped him as he decided to take the risk, to abandon his watch. He felt guilty doing it, but the druid was right, he couldn’t risk being fatigued.

The apprentice must have sensed his apprehension, because they reached out and took his hand. As they twined their fingers in his again, his heart began to settle. His unease fading as he watched their smile.

He didn’t resist as they led him back into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean... I couldn't just NOT make those two badass women girlfriends. I'm only human.


	23. The Mirth of the Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure what everyone was expecting go into this slow-burn fic centred around love letters was an impromptu history lesson on the tribes of the south, right?? Well that's what you're getting, but it's important exposition (and a lil self-indulgent bc of my love of world-building)

“Whew!” The apprentice exclaimed as they threw themselves down onto the bench beside him. The day had gone by rather quickly for him as he sat and watched them train with the druid. Despite his initial hesitations, he found the distrust he had once held for her had all but disappeared after the night prior.

Today's training had them mostly stationary, thankfully. He wasn't sure if he would be able to resist another sweat-glistened bout with them. There was still a quality to them that drew his eye though, even as they sat cross-legged across from the druid. Their intoxicating power, the concentration on their brow, and just overall them, it was all still enough for him to avert his eyes, lest he start ogling again. He had to have a least some self control if he didn’t want to jeopardize their new friendship.

They picked up the waterskin and started chugging it down. Today’s practices had been about focusing their magic and attempting the different schools of magic other than divination. The druid worked with them to find their affinities, but the only two they were able to have tangible results in were transmutation and evocation.

The transmutation was only mildly successful. She had tried to get them to change a bowl of sand into water, and after roughly ten failed attempts, it finally changed into mud. Not perfect, but getting there.

Evocation, though, did come fairly easily. They were gaining confidence in their ability to shape and manipulate their magic beyond themselves, and it tended to manifest as a destructive force. Those lightning strikes of energy that they could ignite from their charged magic. By the end of the session, they were able to split a log in half and then even set it on fire.

It was exhilarating to watch, a blend of fear and excitement as he saw the raw power that they held and were learning to command.

The concentration on their brow as they directed their power made Muriel realize that gaining that control over their magic made them seem so much more like their old self.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that.

Now though, the training was over and the apprentice was laid out across the same bench he had sat on the end of. Their head was nearly in his lap as they looked up at him with their bright smile, satisfied with their work in the ring.

The druid had gotten her pelt back on and approached, almost cautiously.

“ _The bear no longer fears the wolf._ ” She stated. It always seemed that when she spoke directly to him when she was connected to her pelt that her words would echo around his skull in a way that drowned everything out, as if all-consuming. It drew his attention away from the apprentice. 

“You’ve been kind to us.” He sighed, feeling sheepish being confronted on the subject.

“ _The druid does not wish to see more survivors succumb to the Scourge._ ”

“Survivors?” That was an odd way of putting it, he thought.

“ _Survivors, escapees, deserters, whatever it is you consider yourself, you are still one of the lost ones. The sentiment is the same.”_

“That doesn’t seem like such a nice list to be on.” The apprentice mused, still a little out of breath.

“ _It is not.”_

Muriel was admittedly confused. The woman tended to speak in riddles or cryptic observations, it wasn’t unlike trying to commune with his runes.

“Does that have anything to do with the ‘Mirth’ thing people keep calling him?”

“I thought it was just some insult.” He shrugged.

“Yeah, but mirth is generally a nice word. Like joy or glee or something.” Their mouth twisted as they thought, still splayed out over the bench. “Then again, maybe these Scourge people favour unpleasant things more. Like maybe angry and deadly are compliments.”

“ _It is considered derogatory, but it is also truth._ ”

There was a beat of silence as Muriel and the apprentice just watched her expectantly, waiting for her to elaborate. When she didn’t the apprentice pressed.

“Truth about what?”

“ _About him_.”

They looked up at him, examining him as if it would give them any hint as to what the druid meant.

“Please explain.” They finally asked.

“ _You do not know?”_ She looked back at him, her voice uncertain, causing it to lose some of its edge.

Muriel shook his head. He had no idea what was going on.

“ _What is your lineage?”_

“I… don’t know. I was born south of Vesuvia, but I don’t really remember much before coming to the city.”

“ _Where in the south?”_

Muriel frowned. He had never really thought of it that much. To him it had always just been a foreign land to him, an insignificant part of his past. There was a sense of familiarity to the stretch of grassland that they crossed as they came to meet Scourge, and even Scourge tribespeople themselves were recognizable to him, but not like they had been a major influence in his childhood before the docks. It was as if their impression was more recent to him.

Now that he thought about it, he realized that he might have been introduced to the Scourge before he got the Vesuvia. That’s what it felt like in his memory, at least. Everything else was fuzzy and vague.

There was the occasional sensation of a distant memory that he could trigger, like that night he ran his fingers through Inanna’s fur, but they weren’t clear in his mind. Just lingering feelings of a time long passed.

But then he remembered his dream, the one where he sat in the meadow with a girl. Recalling dreams were harder than memories, but something about the way that dream felt more real, less like a figment of his imagination. Had it actually been a memory?

He tried to place himself back in that scene, to imagine his small fingers trying their best to braid flower stems together. He could imagine the feeling of brisk, frigid air that bit at his cheeks and how his hair had to be tucked back or else it would blow into his eyes. He remembered that there had been a distant thrumming, a chorus of deep, resonant drums that felt like the mountain itself was singing along to their song.

“The mountains…” he realized, looking over towards the horizons to see the rising ridges of the snow-capped formations that reached up into the sky. He had ignored them before, so focused on the task at hand, but now that he watched them, there was a budding familiarity, a desire to explore them.

“ _Then you are a Mirth._ ”

“Is that like a tribe?” They asked, pushing themselves up into a sitting position as their curiosity piqued. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder with him, glancing his way as they asked.

Muriel frowned. Was it? He supposed it was likely, after all, if he was born in the Southlands that he had been a member of a tribe.

But the thought of that brought a discomfort with it. Living alone, he had always tried not to dwell on the idea of family. It would only bring pain to think that there was a family out there that either missed him, didn’t want him, or had died. No matter what way he could imagine it, it wasn’t pleasant to think about.

The thought of a tribe was worse. To have been born a part of a collective, extended family of individuals under one culture, and to have been separated from that? To have been robbed of the experience and traditions of his ancestors?

No, it was not something he liked to consider.

“ _You were too young.”_ She realized, her voice softening almost to her normal, uncloaked one. “ _You do not know the history of the tribes_.”

He didn’t, but he also didn’t particularly care to learn. He was content with it remaining one big question mark for him. It was easier that way. Before he could voice this, though, the apprentice perked up.

“There’s a history? A lore?”

“ _Easiest would be to describe the path of the Scourge, the way they shaped the Southlands.”_

“Can you?” Their voice was eager, and they nudged him with their arm, giving him a smile at the prospect.

The druid hummed, considering it for a moment before sinking down onto her knees. She spread her palm on the flattened earth in front of where they sat, energizing the sand below. In doing so, she shaped a canvas in the dirt, dyeing it black beneath her palm as the moved it.

Admittedly, as hesitant as he was to hear all of this, that certainly caught his attention.

“ _In the beginning there were only people. No tribes, no identities, just humans surviving. There was not peace nor harmony so much as distance. The Southlands are vast, and the people here, in an effort to avoid conflict, fled to their own spaces._ ”

They held their hands out over either side of the blackened sand. In it swirled the beginnings of new colours. White lines twisted out and around, snaking around the canvas until they laid out the major landmarks of the Southlands. He could see one at the southwest corner squiggle into the shape of a mountain range.

Once in place, a white glow that had begun to develop in the centre of the map split apart, going in four separate directions, each strand taking on its own colour. Yellow went to the coast, blue stayed close to the centre but expanded northward, and red went south. The one that settled in the mountains was green.

“ _Over time, these people changed, developed, and grew together. They became their own tribes.”_

The glow of each of the colours morphed, solidifying into what appeared to be flags or banners of some sort in their areas of the map. The one in the mountains kept it’s green, but was overlaid with a copper swirling pattern, not very different from the intricate braiding of flower stems. The others took on their own unique qualities, each having a distinct style.

“ _One’s tribe became one’s pride. A legacy to protect, a sign of friend or foe. The identity of each being solidified in the heart of their cultures.”_

Over the flags, the shapes of animals formed. A wolf, a horse, a beetle, and a bear. All animals he had seen on the tapestry in the banquet hall.

“ _The beetles lived in arid, fruitless land. Originally, they were scavengers, considered a pest by the other tribes as they stole resources or intercepted their merchants. They became known as the Scourge of the South. They were not warriors then, merely opportunists."_

They were shown an images of people cloaked in fine blue robes, riding in vast numbers on horseback across the grasslands.

" _The horses were the only tribe with a steady surplus of food supply, and they became known for their driving desire for riches. They traded unfairly with the other tribes, seeking only to gain profit. They gained the reputation as the Greed of the Grasslands, a name they often disputed. After an unprofitable harvest, some merchants struck a deal with the Basilisk of Destitution. With that, the horsemen brought the worst famine the Southlands had ever seen."_

She waved a hand over the picture, showing the image of a woman. She bore a striking resemblance to Morga, with her silver eyes and pale, sharp features. She was shown emerging from the dry bramble that surrounded a run-down camp behind her.

_“None were hit harder than the Scourge. They faced near extinction as generation upon generation dwindled in number. Only the strongest survived, and that included Eir, the third child born to the then Scourge matriarch. She was never intended to take the place of her mother, but when her older siblings succumbed to starvation, she found herself on the throne surrounded by the impending extinction of her people. The knowledge that they likely would not last long drove her to take desperate action.”_

The scene shifted again, showing the woman standing with bloodied feet on the soil of a forest, facing off against an incomprehensibly large, snake-like being.

_“She sought out Vlagnagog, the Serpent of Destruction, and promised a bloody war in exchange for the strength for her people to survive. Eir led her people on an assault against the Greed, as Vlagnagog advised: the only way to put an end to the famine was to exterminate the people who brought it. The bloodshed was seemingly endless as the war stretched on for decades, but eventually, every last horse had perished beneath the horde of beetles.”_

Muriel shivered at her words, seeing the image shift to Eir standing victoriously over the corpses of hundreds, their blue garbs stained purple with their blood.

“ _The tribute to Vlagnagog could not end there. They worshiped the serpent that gave them the power to conquer, and it began to singularly define the tribe.”_

She shifted the image to a pack of wolves, or rather, a pack of individuals in wolf pelts much like her own. They flew their silken, yellow banner that Muriel realized matched the scarf the druid had tied around her eyes. Chasing them were the horde of beetles again, but emerging from them was a young Morga, depicting the same image as the matriarch’s tapestry.

_“The successor to the throne followed her mother’s legacy. Morga Eirsdottir laid down the lives of the small druidic tribes of the coast. They were few and far between, never organizing in the same way as the other three tribes. Morga, spear in hand, hunted us all. No matter where we hid, she always found us.”_

Then, there was the image of the mountains, a massive fire on an outcrop surrounded by numerous silhouettes that danced around it.

“ _All this time, the tribe that had taken up the mountains developed, becoming perfectly adapted for life in such dangerous territory. Their environment protected them from attack and they were self-sufficient, so there was no need to be involved in the squabbles of their neighbours. Over time, their environment bred large, warm bodies. Qualities like scaling their mountains with ease or carrying large loads to their cliff-face camps were essential. Life would have been impossible in such a location if they had not evolved such strength. As distinguishing as their stature was, the tribe of bears was known for how they valued family and friendship above all else. They were safe in their reclusion, despite the dangerous terrain, so they were kind, compassionate._

“ _They became known as the Mirth of the Mountains, a tribe of powerful people whose hearts overflowed with love for all. It became their nature to help others, and their maternal, protective instincts were celebrated. While welcoming, they were also the fiercest defenders, like a mother bear to her cubs._ ”

She showed them the Scourge again, Morga leading her tribe, but flanking her was the man Muriel recognized as Luxx.

“ _Before the end of her carnage over the wolves, the Scourge had heard the Mirth's plans to put an end to their conquest. As strong as the Scourge were on their war path, they would be no match against a Mirth defense. Action had to be taken.”_

Then, it was a mountain scene. The snow and harsh weather battered a determined Morga who pursued a figure obscured under a massive bear pelt who bled a trail into the snow.

“ _While Morga hunted the Mirth matriarch across the mountains, a member of Scourge, Luxx, secretly led his own attack against the tribe. He, disguised in the garb of a fallen wolf, infiltrated the Mirth den, acting as a refugee seeking shelter. While he was there, he poisoned the mead that had been brought out for the winter solstice, a grand celebration for the mountains where all the Mirths gathered and indulged in revelry._

“ _They all drank, but most did not fall to the poison, they were only weakened. After running away, Luxx had his tribe send a rockslide over onto the den, crushing the weakened clan underneath. To his luck, the distress of the rockslide on the mountain caused the snowcap to let go, sending an avalanche to destroy and permanently seal away their mountain homes."_

Muriel’s breath caught in his throat. There was so much to process, but there were two revelations that were at the forefront of his mind. First was that he had to have been cast away as a child by a tribe supposedly renowned for their loving hearts, otherwise he would have died with them.

Second was that his entire family had been killed. By that Lucio-esque man, Luxx.

Was his entire family cursed by Lucios?

The druid continued, showing the image of a girl, probably still in her teens, leading a group of people under the cover of darkness.

_“While Luxx had assured the Scourge of his absolute victory, some members of the Mirth did escape. Injured, poisoned, and frightened, the tribe relied on the only unharmed member who had been away from the festivities during the attack. The responsibilities fell on the shoulders of the young Cathair, the granddaughter of the ‘Mama Bear’ matriarch who Morga later struck down on the 7 th mountain.” _

The image changed, showing a number of carts setting out, their green banner flying behind them as they set off.

_“They are not all gone, the Mirth of the Mountains lives on in some small way. Their home was gone, so they took the merchant carts and set out to heal, to find a new home. They have not lost their protective spirit; the caravan welcomes all who search for a place to call home. Despite the tragedy, they refuse to lose their love.”_

Muriel was stunned to silence. The apprentice watched him carefully, searching for any reaction on his features. When he let out a shaking breath, they placed a gentle hand on his arm.

The druid cast out the magic from the sand, returning it to its natural state before rising.

“ _This is why you are not safe here. Your presence in these walls is a mockery to their failure. You will be targeted.”_ She warned. 

He didn’t know what to say or how to respond. A comprehensive history of his family’s past was not something he was ever expecting to hear.

She gave them both a curt nod, not intending to stay any longer. She was off rather quickly. He watched her cast her invisibility illusion on herself before she stepped out of the training grounds. 

 

 

“You okay?” the apprentice asked softly. They had been sitting with him, waiting patiently for him to process it all. 

He gave a sigh and nodded.

“It’s… a lot.”

“Yeah,” their hand slid delicately down his arm, reaching for his hand in a way they hoped would help him. They took it and brought it up to hold with both of theirs. “Muriel, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t even remember them.” He mumbled, “this is the first time I’ve even heard about them.”

“It’s still a tragedy.” They squeezed his hand in theirs.

He looked over at them, seeing their sympathy written plain on their face. He took a moment to just appreciate them, their closeness, their efforts to ground him. He didn’t resist as they pressed up beside him. It was nothing but their arm against his, but there was an undeniable intimacy in the moment as they rubbed their thumb soothingly over the back of his hand. 

His grip tightened on theirs.

As tragic as the news was, it was in the past, something that he was determined to put behind him. He wanted that new beginning the apprentice had offered him, and he was taking it with him. He wasn't going to ignore his history, but he wasn't going to let himself be devastated by the loss of a people who hadn't wanted him to begin with.

Instead, he focused on the moment, being here with the kind, compassionate apprentice leaning up against him. Like Asra, they brought out that Mirth heart in him, the one that the druid described as overflowing with a love for their friends. That was culture enough for him. 

Muriel took a deep breath. Just for a moment, he let himself savour the feeling of closeness, of genuine friendship. 

With them by his side, he knew he would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just say the next chapter might be more what some of y'all are looking for 😌  
> Btw, I just used a lot of the hints & clues dropped in canon (like the horses, wolves, beetles, bears thing) and just build a story that I thought made sense around it and maybe some patterns that may be important to the plot wink wink.


	24. Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back~

That night, the group had been brought to a bonfire in the centre of camp. It was some gathering that they had been requested to attend. The druid and the warrior escorted the five of them over and found a secluded spot for them to stay among the crowd, so as not to draw too much attention to themselves.

Ludovico, Bludmila, and Petya all gladly accepted tins of mead that were being passed around. Muriel declined, knowing he was in no mental state to start drinking right now, not while he was still digesting his family history.

There was a twinge of sadness at the loss of the tribe he could have called his own, but there was an odd guilt to it too. He didn’t consider himself one of the Mirth of the Mountains, he felt like he couldn’t. It was his heritage, yes, but that was just his blood. He didn’t have any memory of the culture, their history, or even any of their people.

The only thing he had to show for his lineage was his appearance, and even then, he had only found that out mere hours ago. The people he was compared to were mostly gone now, disbanded and forced to wander the Southlands in search of a new place to call home. He didn’t share that struggle with them, so what claim would he have to the sorrow of their losses?

He could only go so far as a general sympathy for their strife without feeling uneasy, so that’s what he settled with.

The apprentice had led him to sit a little further from the others, giving them some semblance privacy despite still being completely out in the open. He was still grateful that they scoped this spot out, after the lesson earlier, he found himself hyper aware of any Scourge member who so much as looked his way. It was like every kohl-covered face he saw look his way sent him into a fight-or-flight state. It was exhausting.

He especially didn’t care for them looking at the apprentice. His hand stayed firmly on theirs whenever they were out in the open.

“If you want to go, just let me know and I’ll get us out of here.” They whispered to him during some ceremonial introduction to the night. A couple of the warriors Muriel recognized came up to do a synchronized demonstration with their weapons. It seemed as dangerous as it was impressive, but Muriel was too distracted to really appreciate the display.

The way the orange firelight danced on the apprentice’s face was captivating, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. The warmth and flickering of the glow seemed to mirror the growing warmth of his fluttering heart.

“Thanks.” He mumbled, cheeks reddening in a way that brought a smile to their face.

The druid was nowhere to be seen, but given the position of the lead warrior’s arm, he assumed that she was at her side, just cloaked in her magic. The warrior stood watch in front of their group, agreeing to the druid’s concerns about their safety. While she was there, Muriel felt himself relax slightly, sagging slightly against the apprentice.

“This is surprisingly nice.” They said, breathing a light sigh, eyes curiously following the blades of the performers as they were tossed about.

He gave a short hum in agreement. He wasn’t sure if they were talking about the show or the whole situation, but he quite liked their closeness.

To his surprise, they moved to tentatively rest their had against his shoulder as they watched the performance.

He froze, unsure of what to do. They gave him room to object as they slowly lowered their head, but he never did.

He felt a breath escape them as they settled against him, seeming relieved that he hadn’t moved away. Their hair ticked his exposed skin, but the weight on them against him was enough to spread warmth over his cheeks.

This really was nice.

It was then, though, that a warrior suddenly ran towards them. Muriel was about to jump up, but they stopped in front of their lead.

They leaned close as if to whisper, but the rowdiness of the event had them barking their message loud enough for Muriel to catch a couple of words: “scout,” and “bird.”

The leader looked behind herself at them, giving a stern look and raising a finger, indicating she would be a moment as she ran off with her subordinate.

Muriel stiffened, and the apprentice sat back up. Both went on edge as their one line of defense left, unsure of any protection the invisible druid could offer. They kept their heads low though, trying not to draw any attention to themselves.

“Hey, you. Bear.” A nasally voice called.

Well, that didn’t take long.

“If I was to throw this here rock at you, would you go into a rage?” The man asked, his pinched face scrunching up as he flashed a smug smile. There was an obvious air of drunkenness to him, from the slur of his words to the slight unsteadiness in the gait of his approach, but his eyes were still sharp. The man, Luxx, cocked a brow as he pointedly tossed a rather heavy looking stone from hand to hand. “Y’know, get a flashback, start fighting for your life, all that.”

Another person, who flanked the man, gave a cackling laugh.

“Oh no! Don’t drop those big rocks on me, mighty Scourge! I’m just a big, dumb mountain man, I’m no match for your power!” They dramatically re-enacted some strange scene, pretending to shield their face with their arms and a pathetic expression on their face.

Muriel ignored them, the apprentice and his grip on each other tightening.

“Never learned to respect your elders, huh?” he continued, glaring down to where Muriel sat, eyes kept shut and praying to any god that would listen for the man to leave. “Look at me when I speak to you, kid.”

“I guess the mighty Scourge of the South got to his poor little mountain family before he had a chance to learn some manners.” One from the entourage sneered.

“Tell me, Mirth, how did you enjoy our victory?” His voice took on a low rumble, smug beyond belief.

“What ‘victory?’”

The entire pavilion went quiet. All eyes shifted to Morga, whose commanding tone didn’t need any increase in volume over the crowd, nobody dared speak over her.

Muriel hadn’t noticed before, but she was seated not too far from them.

There was a beat of complete silence as the man swallowed, furrowing his brows. His back was to her, so he seemed to try and control his facial expression before turning slightly to acknowledge her.

“Our _clean_ , and _strategic_ victory over the Mirths.” He hissed.

“You speak so proudly of your own cowardice, Luxx.” Morga didn’t even look over at him. She stayed seated by the fire, watching it with a narrow gaze as she sharpened her spear.

“Morga, mother of my brother’s son– ”

“Lutz and Montag are both dead. I am your leader and nothing else.”

Muriel could see the man, Luxx, clench his shaking fists at his side.

“My revered leader,” he bowed his head slightly, a slight edge to his tone as he kept his gaze on her. “My strategies lead us to victory without losing a single hunter. While you tracked down that old hag, _I_ defeated the Mirth of the Mountains.”

“You snuck around like a flea-bitten rat in their camp. When you couldn’t even do that right, you dropped rocks on them.” Morga spat. “You cannot call yourself a hunter unless you yourself wield the weapon, that the strike of your arm is what draws blood. You hide behind your so-called ‘strategy.’ If that is what you consider a victory worthy of this tribe, then I should spare our people of your idiocy right here and now.” She pointedly examined the razor-like edge to the freshly sharpened head of her spear, letting it catch the light of the fire.

He swallowed thickly, but stood his ground.

“We would not have won otherwise then, Morga.”

“Then you admit your ‘victory’ was a sham. Have you been so negligent in your prayers and offerings to Vlagnagog that you have forgotten what honourable destruction entails?”

“No, my leader.” Luxx’s frown deepened. “Victory would have been ours eventually no matter what, but if we struck then, we would have lost too many. My plan was in the best interest of the Scourge.”

“What a nonsensical, roundabout way of saying you were just saving your own ass.” She finally looked over, making such intense eye contact with him that it caused him to visibly shiver where he stood. “You wouldn’t survive thirty seconds against a Mirth in a hunt, so you pranced around in costumes and let your underlings do the dirty work for you. Can’t have you getting your jewels and finery dirty, now can we?”

Luxx had been able to stand his ground when she just spoke to him, even with her words dripping with venom. But, paired with the weight of her gaze, he was defenseless. He merely bowed his head to her and said nothing until she turned back to look at the fire.

With a growl, he glared daggers over at Muriel before stalking off.

Muriel glanced over at Morga, who kept her position. The only indication of any emotion on her was the slight furrow of her brows.

The apprentice nudged him, catching his attention.

“Did Morga just defend you?” They mouthed, not saying it out loud in case she heard.

At first, Muriel didn’t think so.

A number of Scourge members had taken to eyeing them when they had been left unaccompanied, but the altercation between Luxx and Morga seemed to deter them. He noticed that Morga’s intervention stopped others who had been walking their way, as if her presence alone acted as a protection ward.

Even if it had worked now, Muriel could feel the weight of all their gazes. Hunters in the shadows, waiting for the right time to strike.

“Do you want to leave?” They whispered, glancing pointedly at his white-knuckled fist his free hand had balled into.

He looked over to the rest of the group. Petya had been encouraged to start playing for some of the warriors and the two guards were nowhere to be seen, likely grabbing more mead.

Petya caught his eye and must have sensed his unease. He gave him a small, reassuring nod.

“Yes.” He breathed.

 

 

They made it back to their room without incident. All the members of the tribe seemed to have congregated at the fire, so the streets were empty. They were able to get back into the cover of their wards quite quickly and without incident.

The druid had even taught the apprentice a powerful guard spell that made it so no one had to take night shifts. Muriel still wanted to, but the apprentice convinced him to trust them.

Back in their room, Muriel felt like he could breath again. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until the apprentice closed the tapestry behind them. He felt himself nearly sag to the floor once they were separated from the rest of the world.

They looked like they were about to say something, but then thought better of it. Instead, they plopped themselves down on their bed, giving him peace and quiet until he was ready to speak.

Honestly, he didn’t even know what he could say. What would be the best topic to use, the fact that they were sitting ducks just waiting for one temperamental Scourge member to finally make a move? Or, that the tribe who had cast him out had all but perished at the hands of their hosts? None of it was pleasant.

The apprentice suddenly shivered almost violently, the cold racking through every bone in their body. They grabbed the pelt blanket to wrap around themselves, overtop of the one he lent them.  

“I really don’t think I’m cut out for this weather.” They laughed, as they gave another shiver. “I think I got spoiled being up beside the fire, our rooms are freezing.”

“Here.” They already had his pelt, so he moved to take off the scarf.

“Oh, no need for that Muriel. I’ll be fine, really. Besides, the scarf looks so nice on you.”

 _It would probably look better on you,_ he thought before he caught himself.

He wanted to ignore what they said, but the smile they gave him made him lower his hands.

“I don’t want you to be cold.” He admitted, mumbling through it so much he was surprised they heard.

They gave him a knowing look before shaking their head a bit.

“Thanks for your concern, but you’re stripping yourself bare. I can’t take _all_ your clothes.”

“I’m fine.” And he honestly was, the weather had a chill to it, but it wasn’t uncomfortable in the room, especially with the fur blanket.

They just waved him off, trying to hide another tremor that shook through their body.

 

 

It was after they heard the two guards safely return from the party that the two let themselves get some rest.

As he laid in his bed, the light of the lantern having been snuffed out already, his mind was racing. There was no way he would be able to sleep like this.

The apprentice, apparently, couldn’t either as he heard them let out a frustrated sigh at the clicking of their chattering teeth. They curled in tighter on themselves, trying to warm up.

Muriel bit his lip as a thought came to mind. It seemed ridiculous even to consider, but the way this was going, he was starting to get legitimately concerned that they could get sick if this continued.

His own awkwardness and hesitations be damned, he was here to protect them, and that included from illness. If the plague really was coming back, they needed to be in top shape.

“Here.” He said, closing his eyes to avoid the embarrassment of the offer as he lifted an end of the blanket up, moving himself back to the far side of the bed to make room.

“What?” They said, squinting at him in the darkness. It took a second for their eyes to adjust and see just what he was offering. “Oh…”

The way they trailed off sent Muriel into a panic, realizing far too late just what it was he was offering to them. Was this too far? Did he cross a line? He hadn’t meant it like that, now they were going to think –

“A-are you sure?” Beyond the quiver of their voice from the cold, they didn’t sound repulsed or even opposed. They slowly lifted themselves up in their bed to face him.

He forced himself out of his panic to nod.

“Thank you, Muriel.” They sighed as they walked over to the entrance into his bed that he made with his arm. “I, uh…” They bit their lip as they looked at him. “I know this isn’t easy for you, so I really appreciate it.”

He did his best to give a nonchalant shrug, but it came off more as a sudden tensing of his shoulders.  

As they climbed in with him, the sinking of the mattress under their weight caused his heart to beat so hard he thought they’d be able to feel it echoing beneath the blanket.

Even facing away from him, they were so close.

Not just their hand, or their arm. Now it was the entirety of them. It overwhelming to his senses, but the sigh of relief that escaped them as he lowered the blanket back over the, enveloping them in warmth, that he felt his anxieties melt away.

Even as they kept their distance beneath the covers, making sure not to touch him, Muriel could feel the cold chill off of them. They were concerningly cold, and as his pulse thrummed beneath his skin, he had to fight back his instincts to wrap them up in his arms.

 _They aren’t Asra_. He scolded himself, knowing that he really wasn’t in any position to be pushing them like that. The two of them had a mission to do, no distractions should be allowed.

They laid frozen in place, as if afraid to move. Muriel considered turning over, so they could lay back-to-back. That would be the best way to save face. He was about to when they spoke up again.

“You’re so warm.” Their voice was soft, but filled with a sense of longing that nearly stole his breath away.

Their satisfaction brought a deep blush to his face.

As they settled into bed, finally relaxing and getting more comfortable, they seemed to drift closer until their back brushed against his chest. The cold brush of their sleepclothes startled him and he jumped back a bit at the same time as they retracted, rolling over to check his reaction.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I’ll give you space.”

Seeing them like this, their face so close to his, his mind seemed to stall. He just stared at them, words unable to form on his tongue.

They seemed to take his blank expression the wrong way as they started shrinking back.

“It’s fine.” He finally managed to get out. “You’re still so cold, though.”

“Maybe compared to you, you’re like a human furnace. Not that I’m complaining.” they chuckled but gravitated back towards him.

Facing them now, it was a lot more real, but somehow it was easier. He could watch their expression, see if he was pushing it too far. It was nerve-wracking but reassuring.

The both of them just watched each other, taking in the moment and both unsure of what to do next. Both hesitant of the other’s boundaries.

“I’ve missed this.” The apprentice admitted, giving him a small smile. “These past few years, I got used to Asra’s company. We’d share a bed like this, and I would feel safe.”

“Asra shares my bed when he visits too.” He felt a warmth at the memory; of holding the magician in his arms, the feeling of being held tightly himself, and of an open and free love shared between them. “It’s nice.”

“Looks like we’re both a bit smitten,” they laughed under their breath. Then, they continued in barely a whisper, “You know, I feel safe with you too, Muriel.”

His breath caught in his throat. Their voice was so soft, and their closeness was enticing. He willed himself to respond but he could barely breathe.

He wasn’t sure if it was the stress of the day's events or a momentary lapse in judgement, but Muriel found his arm raising a bit, welcoming them in closer. Before he could regret it though, they looked up at him, eyes bright as they accepted. They tucked in closer and under his arm, the same way that Asra would tuck in against him.

They minded his collar, hesitant to touch it but gently moving the dangling chain aside as they came in.

Slowly, Muriel lowered his arm, keeping an eye on them to make sure he wasn’t going too far as he laid it over their waist, resting his hand by their lower back. Despite their calm, but blushing, expression, Muriel still felt as though he was approaching a wild, cornered animal. He took every precaution to make sure they didn’t feel threatened by him.  

They shivered slightly at the contact, still not matching him in warmth, but didn’t move away.

He was surprised at his own boldness. He hadn’t imagined he would ever be this close to the apprentice, physically or emotionally. But now, they laid under his arm, close enough that they brushed against him.  

“Is this okay?” He asked, his heart still beating heavy in his chest as they rested so close to him he could no longer see their expression.

“It’s perfect.” They breathed, reveling in the warmth of him. They reached a hand up, delicately placing fingertips over his chest where his heart thrummed. Pulling back a bit, they watched his face, looking a little hesitant. “I’m so glad we’re friends… but I have to make a confession.”

Muriel froze, waiting in silence for them to say what they wanted to say.

“I-” They cleared their throat, “I would feel horrible if did this without knowing how I actually felt. It kind of feels like I’m tricking you if you’re letting me in like this and I’m not honest about my, uh, intentions.”

He blinked, his delayed realization just starting to dawn.

“If you’re uncomfortable with that then I totally get it and I can make sure we stay only friends, I promise, I won’t overstep your boundaries. I’ll go back to my own bed.” They explained quickly, bringing their hands up in a surrendering position, showing him that they would honour their word. “I just, when I wrote in that letter back when I was leaving Vesuvia, and I said that I care about you? I tried to excuse it when you asked, but… it wasn’t nothing. In fact, it’s grown far beyond nothing.”

Muriel watched as they worried their lip, his mind racing at their implications.

“I just need you to know that I do care about you, and that what I feel when you hold me like this is… it’s incredible, but it’s beyond just friendship.” They watched him nervously.

Involuntarily, his arm tensed at their words, the hand at their lower back drawing them in closer to him with it.

“You shouldn’t.” he reiterated, barely masking the brimming warmth he felt at their words. He was trying desperately to cling onto the rationale behind his initial decision to reject them.  

“But I do. I know you’ve got parts of your past you don’t want to share, but no matter what it’s not going to change how I feel.”

Muriel didn’t respond. Instead, he just let himself relax where he was, as he was. There was no use arguing the point, it would only make them press for more details. Details he wasn’t willing to share.

After all the news and events of the day, he didn’t have the willpower to fight anymore. Really, he didn’t want to fight. He wanted to let the giddiness at the thought of the apprentice caring for him sink in, to feel the rush of these joyous emotions guiltlessly.

The self-reprimanding part of him was there to remind him that he couldn’t just move on from what he had done, but right here, in this moment, he decided it would just be easier to give in.

So that’s what he did. He let the apprentice smile up at him when he didn’t ask them to leave.

He let them move in closer, and let them warm up against him, knowing full well that they cared about him. After a moment, they reached an arm around him too, which he didn’t object to.

That’s how they fell asleep: in each others’ arms.

For the first time since they left Vesuvia, Muriel felt safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New York is crazy but I kind of love it. My first day at my internship, I literally got out of the car after a 15h journey straight over from my home in Canada to go directly in and start a 9-5 shift. These past few days have been exhausting but after this I'll finally be able to graduate so yay!  
> My transit between work and my sublet is kind of long though, so chapter updates are going to be delayed, sorry guys :(


	25. Fight or Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long time no update, so what am I bringing? Well, it may not seem like it but I did split this monster into smaller chapters. This is the first part of a very long word doc that I felt was ready for publishing.   
> As an apology for my absence, I can promise you that in the text below, there is indeed a smooch :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lil angsty, a lil serious, a whole lot of dialogue.

Despite the tangle of limbs that they had become overnight, they still managed to jump apart, unlacing easily as they shot up to their feet at the sound of Petya’s panicked voice ringing through the hall.

Muriel tried blinking past the sleep that clung to his mind, attempting to orient himself enough to figure what was happening. As soon as his vision came properly into focus, Petya threw their entrance tapestry aside.

“We have to go. _Now_.” His eyes were blown wide and his hair dishevelled to the point where Muriel couldn’t even tell if it was still braided or not. He was breathing hard, air rasping out of his lungs once his message had been delivered.

The apprentice went up to steady the old man, who looked rather faint as he hunched down to lean his hands against his knees. Muriel wondered if he had had a nightmare, but something about the fear behind the bard’s wavering voice made it seem uncomfortably real.  

Petya took a second to steady himself before straightening, facing Muriel properly, and taking a step forward. Muriel nearly took a step back in response to how much dread was written plainly on his face.  

“Luxx… he’s, he’s challenging you.” He looked like he was trying to force the words out, but they were nothing more than a disbelieving whisper.  

“What?”

“A duel.” Petya took in a sharp intake, brows furrowing in concentration to get his thoughts to words. “He sobered up, and now he’s angry. _Really_ angry. Yesterday was apparently an unforgivable blow to his pride. He’s trying to prove himself, so he’s challenging you to fight… to the death.”

Morga’s words from the previous night came back with sudden clarity: ‘ _You wouldn’t survive thirty seconds against a Mirth,’_ she had said, was this her plan all along? To test the strength of the group? In retrospect, it almost seemed like a deliberate planting of a seed of thought.

In the moment, analyzing Morga’s potential motive was almost like a defense mechanism. He was surprised at the clarity of his thoughts, but that seemed to be where his adrenaline had redirected, completely ignoring the implications of what Petya had just said. Entirely avoiding the uncomfortable truth of the situation.

Morga was testing them. She had made it clear that she wasn’t just going to hand the information over, she needed them to prove their worth to her.

If she hurt Luxx’s pride enough to challenge them to such a duel, she would have one of two outcomes. Either he would agree and conveniently remove her most vocal opposition in a non-suspicious way, one fit for the Scourge. Him and his party could then go on their merry way with whatever information she held. Or – and this alternative seemed quite to her disadvantage – Luxx would become validated in the eyes of her clan, likely enough so to be in a position to usurp if he tried.

Muriel had seen how riled up people could get with the gladiators who won against the public ‘enemy’ in the ring. They might as well have been crowned in Lucio’s place after such a battle, people rallied behind them so fiercely.

Was that what she hoped for?

Without any other places for his mind to go in considering this, his train of thought arrived, unfortunately, at reality.

He would have liked to say he handled the news with some sort of grace, that he processed through it as painlessly as he had considered the politics of Morga’s interference, but that wasn’t the case.

Instead of careful thought, Muriel crumbled.

His knees hit the ground, but he couldn’t feel the sharp knock the hard floor over the burning sensation that seemed to spread over his palms. It was as if the calluses on his hands, a permanent addition to his body after his time in that blood-stained stadium, were on fire. Hot with shame.

He so vividly remembered the weight of wood and iron, how he could regretfully feel like he became one with his weapons. How he could feel the danger of such an instrument spread through his whole body, making the entirety of himself a weapon as well.

It had disgusted him how right the gladiator weapons felt in his hands the first time he held them. Mortifying, more so, was when he first found out just how good he was at the task. His sheer size and strength gave him significant advantage, but even against skilled and veteran gladiators, he always wound up on top.

One could chalk it up to his survival instincts, or maybe even secret desire for public admiration and approval, but Muriel could tell there was something more to it. As much as he didn’t consider either reason to be particularly strong points for him, instincts and ambition can only get you so far. Certainly not as far as ‘undefeated champion.’

That took a sick, unfortunate talent.

A talent he had long buried but was now being told to resurface.

The apprentice was at his side in an instant when he dropped, wrapping around his arm to try and pull him back upright from where he slouched on his knees. Their attempts hardly got him to budge, though.  

He couldn’t tear his eyes off the ground as his mind raced, desperately trying to come up with a solution to this that would make everything okay, where the fate ahead of him wouldn’t be so inevitable.

Where the apprentice would never have to see that side of him.

Beyond his distress, came the guilt. The guilt of knowing that he had let the apprentice sleep wrapped up in his arms without them knowing the amount of blood those same arms had spilt. They had confessed to him, and yet he continued to bite his own tongue.

If he refused the trial, they would be evicted from the camp immediately, Morga would never tell them what she knew about the cure. In some cruel twist of fate, the Scourge of the South tribe was summoning the Scourge of the South gladiator to perform for them, and he didn’t like his chances of survival in either of them.  

More than anything, he wanted to refuse. As much as he didn’t care for this Luxx man, he would not take another life. But, if he refused, the entire mission would be for naught. If he backed out now, they would never get the information they came for. No matter what way he looked at it, there would be no way to pry the information out of Morga without accepting the challenge.

No matter how much Muriel wanted to turn and run, to let himself disappear from the minds of the Scourge, he knew his cowardice would be a death sentence for them all. They would have to be on the run from this day forward, for the rest of their lives. How long those lives would be with Morga potentially hunting them…

Ludovico and Bludmila could never return to their post or their families. Petya would never make it to Nevivon to rest forever beside Lorelai.

The apprentice…

He recalled the was the swarm of red beetles, rushing forth like a hell-bent torrent of crimson, called to by the echo of a heart beat. It was a premonition of sorts from his dreams.

He remembered last night. How, being so close to one another with his arm around the apprentice and holding them close, he could feel the strong thrum of their heart beat. The wonderful rhythm that told him they were alive. That against all odds, they were still here.

He also remembered the day he saw the apprentice being carted off to Lazaret. Working under that damned doctor that couldn’t even bother to notice the apprentice who sacrificed themselves for the people of Vesuvia, they were being dragged off by uncaring body collectors. They had looked so pallid and sick that Muriel had thought for one horrible moment that they were already dead. A quick press of fingers to their limp wrist gave only the faintest whisper of a pulse.

It was with a renewed rush of devotion that he realized that, above all else, he could never let that happen again. No matter the personal cost.

So that was his decision. There was no more need to dwell, consider what could have been. The only way the apprentice could leave this camp safely, without the looming threat of a second plague, was if he accepted the challenge.

Resolve hardening as the single option for him rang true, he was finally able to meet their eyes. They looked beyond worried, a deep crease set on their brow and the beginnings of tears welling up, threatening to spill.

Almost off instinct, he reached out and took their hand, giving it a light squeeze to try and ease them. Their grip back was like a vice as they held it over their heart, looking down to try and mask a small quiver of their lower lip. He opened his mouth to speak, searching for the right words.

Then, though, Ludovico and Bludmila nearly tumbled over themselves to rush into the room. Weapons in hand, they took up defensive positions but neither seemed like they could fully open their eyes, obviously having just jumped out of their own beds.

“What happened?”

“What is it Petya?” They said in at the same time.

The old man explained again as quickly as he could while the apprentice tugged Muriel up to stand.

Everyone in the room stared at him, waiting for his reaction.

There was only one possible option for him to take. If he didn’t fight, they’d never be able to stop the plague from returning. They had tried once before during the last plague, and they had failed. There was no guarantee that whatever magical arcane intervention had happened last time would happen again. And even then, it hadn’t saved the apprentice.

The apprentice, who didn’t remember. They couldn’t recall the tragedy of the first plague, the dizzying number of people who were lost, including themselves. They were doomed to repeat their mistake, there would be no stopping their innate desire to help others.

They’d sacrifice themselves in the name of protecting Vesuvia’s people again.

Muriel wasn’t sure how he would survive seeing them on their deathbed like that again, seeing Asra like that again.

No, he had to fight. Both the apprentice and Asra had made sacrifices, now it was his turn.

“We’re not running away.” He said, surprised at how even his voice kept. His audience nearly jumped when he finally blurted it out after far too long of a pause. He kept his eyes on the apprentice as he continued. “I have to accept, there’s no other option.”

“Muriel, nothing is worth this.” The apprentice said, seeming to barely get the words out. “Please.”

He shook his head. “I’ll accept. I’ll fight to make sure we get that information from Morga. Win or lose, I just need to prove that we are ‘worthy’ to her.”

“You’ve certainly got the physique for it,” Ludovico said, relaxing his stance as both guards sheathed their weapons, “but are you really sure you could face off against someone like Luxx? Kind of seems like this whole thing is rigged against you. I bet these Scourge folk have been practicing for duels since before they could talk.”

“Yeah, I certainly wouldn’t trust that ass to not play dirty either.” Bludmila sighed, scowling at the ground as she crossed her arms.

“Maybe I can go instead.” Ludovico straightened himself, trying to take on a proud stance, but he was obviously trembling at the prospect.

The rest of them looked at him in shock at his offer.

“What? I’m a trained Palace guard, I know how to fight.”

“You do too much showmanship to call that fighting,” Bludmila’s voice was exasperated, seemingly like she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of his offer but trying to hold it in to match the tone of the room. “You prance around with some too-delicate weapon in hand and hope your opponent passes out from boredom before you have to lift a finger.”

“Not true! You’re only saying that because you suck at blocking. If you can’t knock them down in the first few moves you’re screwed.”

Petya shot them a look that stopped their bickering immediately.

“Nobody should be fighting,” he stressed. “It’s a death sentence, and the longer we stand around here talking the less likely we’ll get out in one piece.”

“No.” Muriel’s tone was final. “I’m accepting the duel. You four get your things ready and find the carriage. Make sure it can be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Find Morga and make sure you get that information out of her, then leave immediately.”

“What about you?” Bludmila asked.

“Don’t wait for me. Even if I survive the trial, there’s no guarantee what’ll happen after.” He remembered his wins at the Coliseum, how Vesuvia had booed him, how palpable their wish of harm to him had been in the air from it. He could only imagine it would be much worse with the tribespeople.

“Did you ever watch those fights at the Coliseum?” The other guard spoke up, “Maybe you can take some pointers from those gladiators.”

“Oh, yeah! Like the Scourge.”

“There was a Scourge fighter in Vesuvia?” The apprentice asked.

“I dunno if he was Scourge, like from this tribe, I don’t think he was though.” Ludovico looked up at the ceiling for a moment, racking his brain for a memory. “I can’t remember what he looked like, but he didn’t seem like it. He was Lucio’s favourite fighter though, never lost a match. The guy was ruthless, but he was damn good at what he did in that ring.”

“Yeah, I can’t seem to remember what he looked like either, but I do know that he was huge! He could take any beating and still knock out his opponents with a single fell swoop.” Bludmila feigned a couple of quick punches in the air, making her excitement on the subject evident.  

“You’ve kind of got his muscle mass, so use that to your advantage. You can probably endure some hits, unlike Blud here, so you can buy yourself some time to line up a perfect shot and _boom_!” Ludovico enthusiastically swung an imaginary weapon in a broad arc. “Victory is yours.”

“Lud’s making it sound too simple. Definitely don’t let yourself be vulnerable, a trained hunter like Luxx would take that moment you’re open and cut you to shreds. He seems like someone who would target crucial points like tendons, incapacitate before going in for the kill. It’s safer for him and makes for more of a performance.” She grimaced.

Despite the nearly overwhelming discomfort he was feeling at them unknowingly bringing up his past, he agreed with Bludmila. The druid’s description of how he attacked the Mirth tribe made him certain he would have to be careful about any openings he might leave.

“What we’re getting at is that if you’re really going to do this, try to channel your inner gladiator and win this thing. We know you can do it.” Ludovico gave him an encouraging smile.

“Yeah, maybe if this all goes well, you can have a promising career as a gladiator, maybe even become the new Scourge of the South.” She was joking, trying to lighten the mood, but Muriel couldn’t help his outburst.

“ _No._ ”

Petya gave him a look that told him he gave away too much with his reaction.

Dawning realization settled over the bard’s eyes as he scanned over the scars that adorned his chest before frowning.

“Muriel,” Petya’s voice was soft, as calming as he could make it. “There’s got to be another way. We can find one where you don’t have to do this.” The way ended it left an unspoken ‘again,’ hanging in the air.

“This is the only way we’ll get the information to stop the plague. That’s all that matters.”

The man worried his lip, trying to search for a counter argument, but they all knew he was right.

From outside the lodge, the sound of an approaching drumbeat reverberated through the building. It almost seemed menacing as it hit a deep, steady beat, inciting the challenge.

“Muriel no. You can’t, I won’t allow it.” The apprentice’s grip tightened on his, not even trying to mask the way their voice wavered.

‘It’s not your choice to make.”

“Countess Nadia appointed me the leader of this mission, it should be.”

“It was me who was challenged, not the party. Call it a personal matter.”

“Muriel…”

He looked at them, mentally trying to will away sadness in their eyes, but knew that his response wouldn’t help.

“I’m doing this.” With that, he let go and stepped away.

The others watched him with wide eyes as he took a deep breath. They remained silent and moved to the side, clearing a path for the dead man walking.

 

 

His first step out of the lodge, he was greeted by a large gathering of Scourge. Members of all ages huddled around, waiting eagerly to watch the scene unfold. The massive drum that hung off of one of them hit one final, resonant note as soon as he emerged, casting the entire crowd into silence.

Luxx stood before them, striking a pose that was far too much like Lucio for comfort.

When Muriel came into the morning light, Luxx squinted at him.

“Are you the Mirth I was talking to yesterday?” He asked, brows furrowed, and lips pursed in confusion. Turning to his entourage, he pointed back to him. “Is he?”

He received several shrugs before giving an exasperated sigh and turning back to him.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s a Mirth anyways.”

“It was me.” Muriel could feel all eyes on him and it took every ounce of strength in him not to squirm under the attention.

“Ah, well then Mirth,” Luxx resumed his pose, trying to look down his nose at Muriel. Being considerably shorter than him, though, Luxx strained his neck back so much Muriel thought he was going to fall over backwards. He kind of looked like a rooster readying itself call out the start of the day. “You have tried to bring shame upon me but cannot allow that. Instead, we shall prove once and for all who the superior tribe is. We shall fight!”

Pumping a fist up in the air to accentuate his point, he inspired the crowd to cheer until he lowered his raised hand to point a finger at Muriel. A grin stretched wide across his face as he cocked a brow, waiting for his response.

Muriel couldn’t help but scowl at the bravado, but he gave a curt nod.

At the acceptance, the crowd erupted. Spilling forward into the space they had left previously to circle Luxx, hollering out their excitement.

“Care to explain what the _fuck_ is going on here?” Came a familiar, but annoyed, voice.

The warrior, who had approached from behind Luxx, spun one of her circular blades above her head, a warning for the crowd to disperse. The horde of Scourge members promptly stepped away, leaving an equally annoyed Luxx singled out.

“Luxx and the Mirth are gonna duel!” One of his entourage exclaimed, breaking the silence like he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

The woman gave some sort of disbelieving scowl, looking like she was far too tired to deal with this. Now that Muriel looked at her, were notable bags under her eyes, and an unusually downward slope of her shoulders.

“Are… are you serious?” She looked around as if hoping someone would assure her it was a joke. When no one spoke, she brought a hand to her brow. “We’ve got a Vlagnagog-damned _spy_ – yes, a literal spy – flying over our camp and you decided the best course of action was to start a fight? With Morga’s guest?”

“I-” Luxx started but the look the woman gave him made if very clear that if he interrupted her she would send the spinning blade flying at him.

“I had my team out the entire night hunting it down, but you’ve decided to treat our enemies to a clear display of inner turmoil. That’s exactly what we need them to think, that we’re a bunch of squabbling in-fighting toddlers!” Her voice crescendoed as she went, getting angrier with each word.

Despite his seniority, she didn’t seem afraid challenge him, but her bristling didn’t stop him from scowling back at her.

“Your plaything’s blindness must be contagious if you can’t see the enemy Morga’s already allowed to infiltrate our camp.” His sweeping gesture indicated to where Muriel stood.

At the off-handed mention of the druid, she abruptly stopped the spin of her weapon, clasping her hand around even the sharp end of the blade as if it was the only way to stop it from flying at the man right then and there. She gripped it so hard that Muriel could see where beads of blood began to run down her arm. When she glanced over at him, he could tell that she didn’t remember him, but she just shook her head at Luxx.

“I. Don’t. Care.” She hissed, taking a step forward, a fire alight in her eyes. “He is Morga’s guest, an attack on him is an attack on her.” She angled her blade at him, making her threat clear.

“She only keeps you close because she has you on a short leash, you realize.” He took a defiant stance, trying to shift the direction of the argument in his favour, but his voice rose to an almost indignant squeak. “You were only given the privilege to lead your warriors because she knows she can manipulate you. You even foolishly fell for her little trophy pet. Don’t you see? She’s got you in the palm of her hand! So go ahead, defend her all you want, just remember she’ll dump you the second she can no longer control you.”

“You’re going senile, Luxx.” Was all she said, not bothering to dignify his previous taunts.

“Well no matter, young warrior. The Mirth’s already accepted the challenge.” He gave a nonchalant shrug, but the sharp smile on his face told Muriel that somehow his acceptance won the argument for him.

The warrior’s lips pulled down into a frown. There was a beat of silence before she let out an exaggerated groan. She shoved the blade back on her belt, shaking her head at the two of them like they were misbehaving children as she wiped her bloody palm on her pant leg.  

“Fine.” She flung her hands up in defeat. “Fight. Have your little pissing contest. Do whatever it is that you need to stroke your ego, old man. Just know that while you waste your time, my warriors are out there doing the _actual_ work to protect the honour of this tribe.” Then she turned to Muriel, raising a brow at him as she gave him a once-over. “You’d be doing us all a great favour if you won, Mirth. Try your best.”

Despite her last jab, Luxx’s smugness seemed to grow threefold as she turned and stalked away.

“We fight at midday.” He said with a smile before the crowd resumed its cheer.

 

 

With it all set, Muriel was quickly overtaken by several Scourge members. They weren’t celebrating like the others, but looked rather serious as they led him deliberately around the crowd, directing him to a separate, unoccupied lodge closer to the training arena.

They sat him down on a stripped bed and stood back to inspect him. They spoke quickly, their thick accents made it hard to hear what exactly it was they were saying, but Muriel could decipher some of it.

They were complaining about his appearance. His scruffy, overgrown stubble that he’d neglected to shave down was now approaching a length fit to call the beginning of a beard. He was speckled in dirt that he failed to fully scrub off on the rare occasion they got to bathe on their journey, and how unkempt his hair had become.

They were mindful not to actually touch him as he sat, but they dotted over him, pointing and either smiling or frowning.  

“Do these come off?” A short man asked, indicating to the heavy collar and chains that hung around his neck and wrists.

“I say leave ‘em on, they look kinda badass, like he’s a stallion: wild, untameable.” The woman beside him nearly purred.

“It’s kinda intimidating, like he broke the chains himself, an escapee who’s now on a rampage. If think if we polish ‘em up, we can make Luxx quiver in his boots” Another laughed.

“They don’t come off.” He huffed, feeling his face heat under their scrutiny.

“Shame.” The first one who spoke said, waving it off.

“Hey, uh, _Herr_ Mirth,” The youngest of them said, standing awkwardly at the entrance way. He was younger than the others, probably still in his teenage years. He fidgeted his hands in front of himself when Muriel looked up at him. “Y-you have a visitor.”

“Oh, not now.” One of the hands said, shaking her head with a sigh. “We ain’t got time for this.”

“Well, who is it?” another asked the boy, wiping down a straight edge razor as he did.

“The leader of the Vesuvian party.” He stood up stiff and straight as the older Scourge members talked to him, as if trying to show off how seriously he was taking his duty.

“Is he here?” Came the apprentice’s voice approaching from down the hall. There was an edge to it, close to panic.

“Nuh uh, I don’t care if we’re late, I’m not standing in that one’s way.”

“Yeah, I heard what they did to Morga, I ain’t taking any chances.”

“No more visitors after this,” the short man pointed at him, “we’re heading straight to the armory when you’re done and then it’s off to the arena with you.”

“Yeah, let us know when you’re done, Mirth. Don’t take too long!”

The Scourge hands ushered each other and the boy out of the room as the apprentice stepped in, their eyes lighting up when they finally caught sight of him.

He rose immediately, feeling equal relief at the sight of them. He hadn’t realized how tense he had gotten in their absence.

“Muriel…” They sighed, relieved, but looking torn beyond words. As soon as they were both alone in the room, they crossed the distance to him before stopping a mere arm’s length away. They looked like they were doing their best to keep a distance Muriel would consider comfortable, standing frozen in place and holding their arms close to their side.

He didn’t miss how much they leaned in towards him though.

Without speaking further, they reached for the leather string around their neck. Pulling it up over their head, they lifted up the pendant Muriel had carved for them out from under their garment.

It had felt like ages since that shy encounter, not the mere weeks it had been.  

They opened the loop to place over Muriel’s head. He didn’t resist against it, ducking down so that they could reach.

The wooden wolf fell lightly against his chest as he straightened back up.

“You said this would help keep me safe. I want you to have it now.”

“It was for you.”

They gave a small approximation of a laugh.

“The safest I can ever feel is with you by my side. If you want, I can take it again when you come back.” They adjusted the pendant on its necklace, centring it properly on his chest. “Safely.”

Without thinking, Muriel’s own hand came up to meet theirs, holding them close to his heart.

“This won’t be enough.” He admitted.

“I’ll be right there on the sidelines. If I think things are going too far, I’m burning Luxx to a crisp and then we’re making a break for it.”

“No.” Muriel shook his head, willing his voice to steady. “You can’t intervene, you’d never make it out of the camp. I agreed to the challenge, so this is my fight. To win or to lose.

“I don’t think I could bear to watch that bastard so much as look at you.” They nearly hissed.

“Then don’t.” He pleaded, his voice sounding small to his own ears. “Please. Don’t watch.”

He couldn’t imagine the shame he would feel if they saw how expertly he could swing a weapon, how it would scare them to see just how deadly he could be.

In his mind’s eye imagined the apprentice’s watching him with horror written on their face. The way they might cry out if he connected a sickening blow, begging him not to expose himself to them as the violent killer he secretly was.

On the opposite side of that, how horrible would it be for them to see him lose? The Scourge tribespeople were expert killers themselves. They had trained to be hunters. As much as Morga claimed Luxx’s cowardice, the man was still a veteran in the tribe. Muriel hadn’t missed just how few older individuals there were in the camp. There were youth and young adults aplenty, but Luxx and Morga seemed to be the only ones who had reached their level of maturity among them.

It would be a dangerous mistake to underestimate the man.

Muriel decided then that if he survived, he would tell the apprentice everything.

He wanted to come clean now, to get everything off his chest now before it was too late, but the way they looked at him stopped the words in his throat.  

They didn’t say anything, neither agreeing or disagreeing to his plea. Muriel supposed that was the best he could get from them now. Instead, they splayed their hand open on his chest, over his heart.

“Win. Come back to me safe.” They whispered, taking another step closer to him. “If that’s not enough, come back to Asra safe.”

He couldn’t even bring himself to think of Asra right now. Instead, the horrible thought that this might be the last moment he had together with the apprentice came over him.

He didn’t want the last image of them in his mind to be with tears welling up, threatening to spill. He wanted it to be their bright smile, the unrestrained joy in their laugh, the twinkle of their eye before they said some flirty quip.

But, it would be selfish to ask that of them now.

Instead, he let the desire guide his hands. He reached out to cup their cheeks, a far bolder touch than he had dared to attempt before.

Tears spilled over onto their cheeks as he did. Something like this, coming from him, was a clear admission of the possibility that neither dared speak aloud.

He wiped them away, spreading them out over their cheekbones with soothing strokes of his thumbs. He felt a prick in his own eyes as he watched theirs drift shut, both of them taking shaking breaths.

Bolder yet, was the desire to express to them just how much they meant to him. Now was not the time for denial, for any hesitations about his complicated feelings for them. Right here, right now, all he had was the swell of his heart for them, and he needed to express it.

He knew his voice would die out far before he could ever get the words out, so instead he leaned down, hands still holding their face, and pressed his lips softly to their brow.

He held them there for a moment like that, trying to send words unspoken directly through the contact. They must have understood, because they reacted by throwing their arms around him in near desperation.

They pressed themselves flush against him, holding him as close as they could.

Reservations be damned, he wrapped his arms around them and held them even closer.

The apprentice continued to softly plea as they buried their face against his shoulder, careful not to knock his collar. At some point, they stopped talking to Muriel directly and instead switched to something like praying.

Too soon, they were interrupted by a deliberate cough at the entranceway.

“Sorry, but’s time.” The one Scourge hand said, her voice uncommonly soft was she watched them.

The others were there, the tapestry drawn back as they peeked into the room. Muriel could see that some of them were looking a little teary-eyed.

The apprentice gave him one last squeeze before they stepped away, keeping hold of his hand until the very last moment to linger the touch.

He gave a small nod as they turned to leave.

“We’ll make sure he has the sharpest blades in all of the Southlands.” The short man declared, giving a brisk handshake to the apprentice as they made their way under the tapestry.

“He’ll look so intimidating Luxx won’t even have the guts to land a hit.” Another chimed in.

To Muriel’s surprise, the Scourge hands each gave small assurances to the apprentice who was making their way out, trying to comfort them as they tried to discretely wipe at their cheeks.

Before they rounded the corner, they turned back, taking a heavy moment to just hold Muriel’s gaze before finally turning out of sight.

“Now then,” One Scourge purred out, voice now confident, “let’s get you to your victory, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said there would be a smooch, never said what kind.   
> For real though, authors don't feature forehead kisses enough, so y'all know I had to include it.   
> My transit is really long so I didn't have much time to write when I got home, but I've started getting on my bus at an earlier stop so I can get a seat and now I'm able to write on my way to/from work. Next update shouldn't be too long from now, thanks for sticking with me! 💞


	26. Back in the Ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got writer’s block trying to finish the fight scene so I went back to read the whole fic & wow… I need to edit better.  
> Thanks for putting up with my sloppiness, I’ll go back and fix it eventually I promise 
> 
> Also! I may have gotten a bit carried away in my ~graphic depictions of violence~. I toned it down a bit, but it’s still a gladiator fight, so be warned that there are some violent imagery and injury described in detail. Nothing overly gore-y or anything like that but if you’re uncomfortable with this sort of stuff you can skip to the next chapter and piece together what you missed if you don’t want to read this one.

The Scourge hands who attended him fell into silence as they swooped down on him. They stopped their early bickering and, with a renewed vigor, went right to work.

Once the apprentice had left, he wasn’t sure what to think. So, he didn’t.

Muriel didn’t interfere, he just followed the Scourges’ directions wordlessly as he let a sort of numbness settle over him.  

It wasn’t uncommon for him before, when he was a gladiator, to just let his mind go blank. Oftentimes, it made the whole ordeal easier if he dissociated himself from it all. He’d let himself drift through the event, relying purely on muscle memory to get him through battle after battle. It was to the point that the last bit of his time captive at the Coliseum was nothing but a blur.

The first faces he remembered vividly. Back when the stakes were highest, when he hadn’t grown uncomfortably confident in his own skills. He remembered their expressions, the fear in their eyes as he would strike his blows.

The first dozen or so battles were the worst. He would be nearly blinded by his anxiety the nights prior, not being able to get a wink of sleep as his mind raced at the horrible possibilities the future held for him. He mostly worried of what would happened to Asra should he fail.

He had tried to steel his resolve, but in the dark recesses of the cells under the Coliseum, nothing remained but despair.

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this now. Considering who he was up against, it would be healthy to have a certain amount of worry, to be fully alert, but he didn’t think he had it in him to strategize. He knew the second he let his mind wander, it would go somewhere it shouldn’t. Whether it would be back to despair or whatever form of lovesickness was starting to rise in his chest, neither would be helpful right now.

The Scourge aids had surrounded him, each going about their own respective task with military efficiency.

He found himself studying the grain of the wooden ceiling as the short man dragged the silver blade carefully across his cheek, shaving the stubble down. Not completely, but rather to a shadow of what it had been. He carved clean edges, ones Muriel knew he’d never be able to recreate himself. Sweat beaded on the man’s brow as he worked as fast as he could without nicking Muriel’s skin.

A woman tried her best to painlessly comb through his mop of hair, softly apologizing any time the brush tugged on another knot. Eventually, she gave up and instead pulled it back. She took what hair could reach the back of his head and tied it up, not bothering to try and recapture any fly-aways or stray locks that fell back over his face.

Others went about various aesthetic details he never would have considered for himself, like cleaning the grime out from under his fingernails and filing them down to a rounded tip. Or, taming his eyebrows by plucking any wayward hairs. The sharp sting of it making him flinch, earning him a chorus of groans and curses.

The youngest one from earlier took to sponging him down, maneuvering around the adults, to get as much of the dirt off his face and torso as he could.

Had Muriel been more present, he was sure he’d be incredibly uncomfortable and weirded out by the relentless pampering. This was more attention than he had received by the beauticians in the Coliseum. In fact, this was probably more attention than he had ever received in his life.

He knew he’d be most displeased with the one aid who was near frantically scrubbing down the rusted chains that hung from his neck, polishing them as best as they could under the time constraint.

The group was interrupted by the long, drawn-out note of a horn being blown outside. At the sound, they took one synchronous step back.

They seemed content, even impressed, with their own handiwork. One of them gave a small whistle before wiping their brow, nodding to the others in approval.

 

 

With that, Muriel was hurried out of the room, over towards an armory. He was directed to inspect the array of weapons to pick for the duel. Most were clearly more designed for hunting than bloodsport, but they would serve their purpose. They looked more durable and efficient than the showy, performance-ready weapons that had been provided to him at the Coliseum.

He picked up a couple of them up, testing them under his palms.

Under any other circumstance, he was sure he would’ve been delighted at how awkward each of the weapons laid out before him felt in his hand. Their weight felt wrong in his grip, and certainly none of them felt like an extension of his arm like such deadly instruments once had.

Maybe he really had begun to put that part of his history behind him. Maybe he had truly begun to heal.

He ended up settling for a cast iron mace that so heavy it felt like if he held it for too long it would stretch his shoulder right out of its socket. It wasn’t spiked, but still held sharp, angular edges at its end. The handle had a good grip, meaning he would be able to swing it around with force without having to worry about losing it. One solid, strategic hit with this and he could likely incapacitate without killing.

The thought gave him hope. Maybe he could do with this without another death on his hands. If he could just best Luxx, make it so the man could no longer fight, there would be no need to deal that final, horrible blow.

He motioned back to his attendees, showing that this was his choice.

The youngest one took the task immediately, looking determined as he reached out to take it from him with a slight bow. Despite his eager expression, Muriel looked between him and the weapon that easily weighed more than him. The boy just smiled and nodded, reaching for it again.

With a shrug, Muriel handed it over, only for it to fall directly the ground, making the young hand yelp out as it nearly missed crushing his foot. He tried picking it up off the ground with no success. Embarrassed, he opted to try and drag it over to the arena’s entrance, struggling as its edges dug into the pressed dirt like anchors, leaving deep gouges in his wake.

Muriel went to go help, but the others grabbed him before he could move, leading him directly to what he could only guess was a dressing room. It nothing more than a small room off to the side of the armory, but inside it hosted what had to be the largest collection of furs and leathers Muriel had ever seen. There were types of pelts he recognized, and some that didn’t even seem like they came from real animals. Despite the variety, they all were clearly cut and styled for purposes of gladiatorial fight. It bore an uncanny resemblance to the collection Lucio had commissioned for his fighters. Some were clean, others were so blood-stained that Muriel couldn’t even tell what colour they were underneath.

Apparently, he didn’t get a say in the matter as a heavy pelt of sandy brown fur was thrown at him. He caught it easily as other various articles were tossed in his general direction. The workers tutted as he held them, looking over him with sharp eyes as they determined what would be the best way to dress him.

The woman who had done his hair earlier took up a thin stick of Kohl. She motioned for him to duck down to her level so she could reach his face. Looking around, she seemed to make up her mind and began a delicate drawing.

Unlike the thick, strong markings featured so prominently on the other Scourge members, she swirled it over his features, mainly across his cheekbones before arcing across his forehead, the pattern of the designs not dissimilar to those he painted on his own masquerade masks.  

She connected her design to the outer corners of his eyes before lining them, being careful to not jab him with the stick anytime he flinched back at the touch of it against such sensitive skin. She made a couple more edits to it, being surprisingly precise in her linework before she gave a satisfied nod.  

One of the attendants worked to take the various straps he wore off, leaving him holding up the loose waistline of his pants himself. One of the men took out leather that was dyed a brilliant red and began strapping them around him, attaching them to the sandy pelt to hold it in place over his shoulders like a cloak. The glossy leather shone oddly like rubies in what light filtered into the lodge. Despite the eye-catching quality, Muriel felt himself grimace at the colour.

“Red’s a lucky colour.” The woman told him quietly, sensing his discomfort, “Some say it inspires bloodlust, but I’ve never agreed with that. Instead, I think the sight of it inspires pride. Wearing it shows that you’re proud to be who you are and you’re willing to fight for it.”

She gave a reassuring pat on his shoulder as she helped fasten the straps. She seemed to get an idea, though, as she jumped over to a chest of clothes, tossing garments about until she found what she was looking for.

Victoriously, she pulled out a green tunic. It was old, and would certainly be too small for his stature, but rather than try and put it on him, she pulled a couple of loose threads before tearing off a long strip of its bottom. She presented him with the makeshift ribbon, dyed the same hue as willow leaves. She motioned for him to duck down again, which he did, and she stepped behind him, wrapping the ribbon around the band she had put in his hair to tie it back.

She tied it securely before taking a step back, giving him a small smile, looking around at the others to make sure none of them were paying too much attention to them before she spoke again.

“Be proud of who you are, Mirth. Fight for it. _Win_ for it.” She whispered, giving a small tug to his new, green accessory before hurriedly finishing her work on the straps.

“I don’t know how much of this is gonna fit you if I’m being honest,” the short man said, his voice startlingly loud in contrast to the woman’s hushed tones.

The man threw his arms up in defeat, giving up after rifling through the last chest of clothes. Sending a small collection of garments he had collected over his arm flying in the air, he cursed under his breath.

“I’d hate to have you go out against Luxx with so much exposed skin but I think the loincloth is gonna be the only thing here that could, uh, preserve your modesty. It’s supposed to be floor-length, but I think it’ll work normally for you.”

Muriel just raised a brow and indicated to what he was already wearing.

“Normally these duels are done in costumes.” Another said, “It would be insulting to Vlagnagog to wear pedestrian clothes for battles offered to him, you’re supposed to be adorned in way fit for a warrior.”

They didn’t bother to elaborate, just giving a little shrug at his confused look.

“Did you even bring extra clothes?” The short man raised his brows to emphasize a question that he obviously already knew the answer to. When Muriel frowned, he sighed. “Thought not. We can’t send you back to Vesuvia in tatters, now can we?”

Muriel narrowed his eyes at him, but only got another shrug in response.

The long length of cloth was tossed at him. It was the same crimson shade as the leather but without the glistening quality. The woman handed him several extra straps that she braided together to fashion a belt as he was sent off behind a curtain to put it on.

It felt strange to fold the cloth over himself again. It wasn’t a garment he had worn since he left that part of his past behind him, but he easily remembered how to guide the fabric over and around himself, draping it evenly. It was long enough that he got it to hang down to his knees with enough excess to bunch at his hips to cover the sides of his thighs too. He tied the belt tight to his waist, securing it to the other straps to make sure it didn’t fail.  

When he came back out, the Scourge hands each gave him big smiles, nodding appreciatively.

“Now you’re a warrior.”

 

Dressed and armed, he was finally led to an entrance into the arena. From where he stood he could see there was a gathered audience on spectator’s benches, but it wasn’t nearly the size of the Coliseum. The energy of this crowd rivaled Vesuvia though. He could hear them call out even from here.

He could hear the rise of their volume and exhilaration as Luxx presumably stepped out into the ring.  

“More people are cheering for you than you might think,” the woman said, barely audible over the excitement of the crowd.

“You won’t find many who’ll admit it out loud, but a majority of the tribe actually disagrees with what Luxx had done. Many of us really liked the Mirths.”

“Yeah, your people didn’t deserve the fate Luxx chose for you.”

“This is your chance for retribution, for redemption.”

“You’ve got this.”

The Scourge members each grabbed a hold of one of his hands, all of them around his one, and held tightly.

In another language, they muttered a guttural phrase, something distinctly foreign to his ears, but there was a hope to it, a call for victory, that was plain to hear.

When they let go, they each gave him a determined look and a nod before taking their leave.

“You’re ready.” The short man, who was the last to go, said with earnest. He gave Muriel a level look, “Now win.”

 

 

Finally alone, standing at the entrance to the arena, he felt a horrible sense of déjà vu. The dirt trail that led into the fighting ground called to him, much like it had back then.

His mind drifted back, vividly reliving the memory of his past life.

_Weapon in hand, he took a breath to steady himself._

His grip tightened around the handle of the mace, trying to fight off that burning sensation that came back to his palms. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.

_The cheers of the Vesuvian crowd faded. It was only him, and his cause. He closed his eyes, drowning out their noise to remember Asra’s whispered words of love, the bounce of his bright shock of hair, the way his eyes narrowed when he smiled. He remembered who he was doing this for, he remembered that by fighting, he was keeping the magician safe._

The boisterous cries of the Scourge faded into the background. Eventually, it was only him and his cause, so he closed his eyes. He thought of preventing the plague, how that was truly what he was doing this for, not some plot to avenge his people as the Scourge hands made it sound. There were lives that could be saved, so that’s what he was fighting for. He was fighting for the safety of the two magicians who held his heart.

He thought of the gentle touch of the apprentice, how delicately they would reach for him, always waiting for his permission. He recalled the brightness of their smile, the kindness of their eyes. He felt the sparks of their breathtaking power palpable in the air, and the awe they inspired within him. How easily they had fit in his arms, the way their skin gradually warmed against his own. How charged the connection had been when he had kissed their brow.

_Nothing else mattered. Only him._

Nothing else mattered. Only them.

_What would have been a deafening roar of boos from the crowd sounded leagues away as the Count announced his arrival, summoning him into the ring._

The cries of the gathered Scourge sounded leagues away. There was no announcement, no summoning, but Muriel knew it was his time to face his fate.

_Opening his eyes, he stepped out into the sun._

Opening his eyes, Muriel stepped out into the sun.

 

 

Luxx was already out there, rallying the crowd in his favour as he twirled the jagged, deadly-looking daggers around so fast it was dizzying. His collection of them were no longer strapped to his waist, instead they were moved to hang across his chest, acting as both armour and supply. The ornamented handles caught the light, reflecting specs of jewel tones across the man’s blood red uniform.

It was similar to what he remembered Lucio wearing when they were younger, especially with the speckled fur trimming it featured. In fact, the resemblance was uncanny. The man’s blond hair was swept back, a more golden shade than Lucio’s had been, but roughly the same length. His sharp features were pulled into a smile that was equal parts smug and challenging. The crow’s feet at the corners of the mans eyes were mostly obscured by the thick lines of kohl that covered his eyes, dragged out like war paint down to the corners of his jaw.

A horn blew, bellowing out a wavering tune that silenced the crowd. Muriel took a second to look around himself and take in the scene. He and Luxx stood in a small arena, what looked to be a repurposed training ring with some benches surrounding it. It certainly wasn’t meant to hold what looked appeared to be the entire population of the camp, people were climbing onto roofs to get a view above the crowd.

The only empty area around the edges of the ring was a radius around Morga, who stood at the border, her expression unreadable.

She inclined her head slightly, almost as if acknowledging him, but the movement was so subtle that Muriel wasn’t sure if he had imagined it.

The horn blew out three quick notes and Luxx cackled.

“Ready Mirth?” He yelled out above the excitement of the gathered crowd.

Muriel just stood, planting his feet on the ground in preparation of a defensive stance. He knew Luxx was quick, faster than he had originally thought based on the knife show he had been doing mere moments before. There was no way he would be able to out-maneuver him or beat him at anything relating to agility.

His plan was to limit the amount of movement from him as much as possible. Make Luxx do all the work if he wanted to land a hit, tire himself out. He at least hoped the pelt on his back was tough enough to block the razor-sharp edges of blades, considering his arms and legs were both bare in the chilled air.

He had only taken the one-handed mace, intentionally leaving another hand open to restrain the older man if he had to. That was one thing he found with quick opponents, any sort of shield not only slowed him down but left openings that were like bullseye targets for them. It was best to leave himself as a large target without any part of him being particularly more vulnerable than the rest. It could slow their decision and, at the same time, their blade.

Two notes blown in quick succession into the horn and Luxx sheathed the daggers that he had been using for show. Instead, he drew out two straighter blades, ones that looked far more efficient for killing than the others.

He ducked low, poised and looking far deadlier than Muriel imagined he could be. His body was coiled taut, each muscle seeming to be ready to launch him forward.

Muriel had thought before that his whole body was weaponized during his time at the Coliseum, but it was nothing compared to the man in front of him.

Muriel didn’t have much to do to prepare himself. He was going to be on the defensive, but he couldn’t rely on just being reactive. He didn’t think he was fast enough to be. He had to anticipate Luxx’s moves, but it was almost impossible to tell given the man’s stillness, dual daggers in hand, and the smug smile that he directed at him as the two waited in silence for the final blow of the horn.

Muriel twirled the mace around in his wrist, loosening his arm against the weight of it.

Just as it had in the Coliseum, the horn blew out a final, long note and the crowd went wild.

He hardly noticed their cries as he focused entirely on Luxx. The older man kept himself ready to strike, but taunted Muriel by slowly side stepping. His grin grew wider as he watched Muriel follow his motions with only his eyes, obviously figuring out his strategy mere moments into the fight.

He gave a low chuckle, rumbling through him loud enough that it inspired more cheers from their audience.

“Hoping to tire me out, Mirth?”

Muriel stayed silent, never breaking his focus as Luxx did a sort of jump to the side, forcing Muriel to spin around to not leave himself vulnerable, his first movement of the match.

“Your kind weren’t exactly known for being the brightest.” He sneered before twirling a blade in his hand, spinning it around in a clear taunt that said he knew Muriel wouldn’t strike first, so he was essentially free to do as he pleased.

Their eyes locked in a way that was deeply unsettling for Muriel. He had never been a fan of it before, but after the intimate moments with the apprentice, this attention felt fundamentally wrong to him. This man’s pale eyes were nothing like theirs, and they held such malice and intensity that Muriel wanted nothing more than to shy away.

It was this eye contact, though, that let him catch the slightest glance downwards, towards Muriel’s unarmoured legs, that saved him.

Luxx lunged, keeping low to the ground with a dagger outstretched. He twisted around Muriel, lashing out at the back of his left ankle, trying to sever the tendon there.

Muriel had anticipated it, though. He had expected Luxx would try and bring him down quickly, to topple him down in some way to get the upper hand, and the flicker of gaze downward tipped him off to his plan before it was too late.

All it took to avoid the strike was to deflect and move out of Luxx’s reach. Muriel kicked his left leg back, twisting on his right foot and swinging his mace downwards, connecting with the metal of the dagger that lashed out at him.

The dagger went flying backwards, and for a moment Muriel was worried that it might have injured a spectator from the silence that fell on the crowd. They were all actually just holding their breath as Luxx rose, shaking his hand out from the impact but showing the blow didn’t actually injure him.

Undeterred, Luxx cocked a brow, but Muriel noticed the way he fought against the downward turn of his lips to bring back that smug smile. It was a front, his smugness, to try and get a rise out of his opponent. Muriel could see the real agitation from the failed attack in his eyes though.

This repeated several times, Luxx lashing out in a blur of movement with different daggers he pulled out from their sheaths, and Muriel catching on a moment prior from the slightest movement of Luxx’s eyes to indicate his intentions. Twice Muriel was able to disarm Luxx. Once out of his hand, Muriel made sure the weapons were sent out of bounds, dwindling the man’s supply.

After a particularly long bout between the two, a dance of dodging and parrying as Luxx’s strikes grew more erratic from his frustration, Muriel finally caught it against the shackle on his wrist. The clang as the two metals collided rang out, sounding horribly sharp in his ears, but it was finally enough to knock the knife out of Luxx’s hand. As the older man reached for it, he brought the mace down on it, effectively shattering it.

Luxx knew better than to lunge directly at him but lining up attacks on weak spots required him to look at them. As much of an expert as he might be, it would be impossible to connect a blow without at least a glance to where he was striking. It was to Muriel’s benefit, but even then, he wasn’t nearly as fast as the older man.

He would be able to maneuver out of the way, strategically side stepping or jumping back, but there were still times where Luxx’s blades would graze his skin, drawing blood.

Any time another bead of red rolled down from a fresh cut, the audience would nearly scream in delight. Various shouts encouraging Luxx to “carve the Mirth up,” would bring a more genuine smile to the man’s face.

At this rate, Muriel was starting to worry he wouldn’t be able to outlast the Scourge. He was trying to waste as little energy as possible, but Luxx kept him on edge, faking him out every so often, or changing directions suddenly to keep Muriel on his toes. It was physically and mentally taxing to keep such a scrutinous eye on his opponent, and it was starting to catch up to him.

It had been a long time since he had done this.

When Luxx lunged again, he went the completely opposite way that Muriel had anticipated. The fake-out he did the moment prior helped him line up an attack on the arm that held the mace. Right before he ran out with his actual attack, He deliberately looked elsewhere, making Muriel defend himself in exactly the wrong way as the older man dragged his two daggers deep across the muscle of his arm, causing him to cry out in pain as the cuts sent fire through his veins.

Even the adrenaline that was running through his system wasn’t enough to mask the pain that set every nerve in his arm alight.

As he was distracted by the sudden flash of pain, Luxx was able to turn after his blades connected with his arm, carving several deep slices into his thigh before retreating. He watched with that damned smile growing impossibly big on his pointed face.

Muriel fought through it, trying not to think of how quickly blood was beginning to pour from the gouges. The blades were far sharper than he imagined, they sliced through him easily, making even the lightest touch draw a concerning amount of blood.

Muriel staggered, but did his best to keep his composure, focusing back on Luxx who had taken the moment to rile up the crowd. He spared a split second to take in the sight of his injuries, and was met with the unsettling sight of his entire side already being drenched red. The shade of the loincloth was even dyed a deeper shade as it was stained by his injuries. His grip on the mace nearly slipped as blood ran down his arm, dripping down off the end of his weapon into the dirt.

Putting weight on his injured leg sent sparks into vision, but he had to keep standing. He had to keep fighting.

Luxx, overconfident now, went right for him.

Out of patience, Muriel swung the mace. Despite the slick grip, his under-handed swing connected a blow to Luxx’s abdomen. The unfavourable angle he had to swing at – a mere upward pull of the mace rather than being able to put his weight behind it – still connected in a way that sent Luxx flying backwards.

The man stumbled as he landed, sputtering to try and catch his breath, clutching at his stomach.

He coughed and spat on the ground, a splatter of blood painting the dirt below him.

The crowd quieted. Now, both parties had spilled blood in the ring.

With that, Luxx lost his taunting façade.

He literally growled at Muriel before trying, and failing, to straighten up. The sweat on his brow dripped down into the kohl, causing it to run and give him the appearance of smoky tears down his face.

Unable to stand upright, the man looked downwards. He reached down, holding a palm over the ground as he seemed to crumple. For a moment, Muriel thought he was going to concede.

As Muriel’s guard fell slightly, the man’s hand quickly closed around a fistful of sand and flung it up, directly into Muriel’s eyes.

He reared back, fighting the urge to wipe the sand away as he held his arms out defensively, blinking desperately despite the pain of it. Blinded, he was forced to guess Luxx’s next action. He would keep low, and the crouch he had taken could also be him poised to strike before he threw the dirt.

Muriel’s mind raced back to the first move Luxx had tried: to completely topple him with two clean cuts to the back of his ankles.  

He reached down in a panic, grasping desperately with his open hand. By some blessing, his fingers connected with fur as Luxx rushed him. He grasped the fur like a vice, lifting the man wearing it up above him, holding him like the fur was the nape of his neck.

The man wasn’t heavy, so he was able to suspend him in the air one-handed despite his thrashing. The way his coat pulled back with how Muriel was holding it restrained the man’s arms, pulling them back at an awkward angle and making it so the most he could do is flap them about uselessly.

Buying himself a moment of time, he quickly cleared as much of the sand out of his eyes as possible. When he could see well enough, he reared the mace back, lining up a duel-ending blow.

Admittedly, Muriel found himself succumbing to the primal, nearly feral, instinct to not only survive, but to harm the man in front of him. Rage took over him, red clouding his vision as he tightened his grip on the handle. Deep down, he wanted to hurt him. He wanted to end this, and if the man he held had to die for it, then that’s what would happen.

When he looked back at the struggling man with a snarl, something else caught his eye.

Over in the audience, having just pushed their way to the front, was the apprentice.

They looked at him in horror.

Their mouth was agape and eyes wide as they saw him holding up this writhing old man whose blood dribbled out of his mouth. Their hands flew up to cover their mouth as he readied a final blow.

No…

No, they weren’t supposed to see this.

He hadn’t wanted them to see this.

He hadn’t wanted to _be_ this.

In his shock, his grip on the fur slipped, enough that Luxx was able to seize the opportunity. The man kicked out, landing a hit squarely on Muriel’s chest to push himself back, using the momentum to flip back and land on his feet.

The blow caught him so sorely off guard that he stepped back, putting all his weight on his mauled leg. It collapsed beneath him.

Falling gracelessly to the ground, he collapsed into the dirt, trying desperately to get his breath back.

It took less than a moment for Luxx to stand above him, sneering down at him with blood-stained teeth.

“This ends now, Mirth.” He hissed before grasping the hilt of his last dagger with both hands.

Everything seemed to freeze for a moment as the man reared the blade back, and Muriel’s heart caught in his throat. Reality rushed in with unnerving speed, though, as Luxx brought it down with all of his strength.

Muriel was able to push himself away, rolling out of the way just in time for the dagger to miss its mark, but on the upswing as Luxx pulled it back, it caught Muriel’s cheek, slicing a thin line along it.

Luxx recovered quickly, readying the dagger for another strike when Muriel felt his survival instincts hone in. The split second of opportunity as the man reared his arms back wasn’t wasted this time.

Muriel flung out with a hand, catching his wrist before he could strike again. He tightened his grip around the man’s hand as firmly as he could, twisting his hand backwards until the unnatural angle caused Luxx to cry out in pain.

The dagger clattered against the ground, and they both moved to reach it.

But Muriel, to Luxx’s surprise, ditched the mace and was already ready to collect the fallen blade. He hopped back to his feet, dagger in hand as Luxx reached instead for his abandoned mace.

The older man gripped the slick handle, but it didn’t budge. He pulled it once, twice, before he put his full strength behind it, only to slip backwards empty-handed. Knowing it was pointless, it was too heavy for him, he gave it up.

He panted hard as he glared at Muriel, patting at the sheaths on his chest before his expression fell ever so slightly.

He was out of daggers. All the others were knocked far out of the ring, leaving him unarmed. Muriel held the last one in his hand.

Luxx gave what sounded like a battle cry. A scream that seemed to tear through him, halfway between outrage and desperation. It rattled through his chest in a way that was so unnerving it plunged the crowd into complete silence.

“Come at me, Mirth!” He screamed, spittle and blood flying from his mouth in his seething rage. “Do it! End this!”

Muriel just kept the blade at his side.

“You’re weaponless.” He said simply, barely managing to get the words out past his panting breaths.

“I’ll kill you with my bare hands if I have to.”

Neither of them moved.

Muriel, deciding for them, reared his arm back and threw the dagger as far as he could, easily clearing the gathered Scourge for it to strike down onto an empty roof, lodging itself deep into the wood several lodges away.

He walked right up the smaller man, standing for the first time in what felt like years to his full height while trying to mask the limp of his injured leg. Without taking his eyes off Luxx, he reached down and picked up the mace in his less-bloody hand.

“It’s over, Luxx.” He said, sending a sidelong glance to where the apprentice stood. Petya had shown up as well and was trying to pull them back, away from the scene. They were still staring right at him, ignoring Petya’s pleas.

“Bullshit!” Luxx yelled as he ran at Muriel, only to be shoved back.  

“There’s nothing you can do. You have no more weapons. Admit your defeat and you can live.” Muriel’s voice was softer than he expected it to be. He himself was pleading with Luxx, begging him not to make him do this. He raised his mace demonstratively, showing the power imbalance.

“How fucking dare you.” Luxx’s spoke low, before launching into a string of profanities as he attempted to rush Muriel three more times, each to less success.

“Surrender.” Muriel nearly begged, pushing him away for the fourth time.

Luxx stood, hunched over, looking out over the crowd that waited with baited breath.

Something must have clicked in him because he looked back at Muriel, eyes narrowed.

“Fine.” He breathed. He held his hands up in surrender before taking a few steps backwards.

Muriel watched him, trying to see if he was about to pull something, surprised at the sudden change of heart, but there really was nothing that Luxx could do at this point. From how Muriel saw it, he could let himself be defenselessly slaughtered by Muriel in front of his tribe, or maintain some dignity and just surrender.

Looked like Luxx’s self-preserving nature won out.

A wave of relief washed over him. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying not to let the extent of his injuries sink in just yet as he turned to face Morga.

She did not look pleased at the outcome.

As he opened his mouth to speak, though, something changed.

Morga’s brows twitched downward, her displeasure clear.

At the same time, Muriel heard the apprentice call out his name.

As he turned to look at them, he realized his mistake.

Luxx had stepped back, close to the edge of the ring.

Right where a member of his entourage stood, armed with their own weapons.

Before Muriel could even fully turn, Luxx was already on him. The man had sprung up, grabbing a hold of the pelt that hung from his shoulders as leverage, and pulled himself higher with it, effectively pulling it back to expose bare flesh underneath. Muriel saw the flash of the blade coming at him, but it was too late. There was nothing he could do in time to stop it.

Luxx’s maniacal laughter rang in his ears as the blade sunk deep into his shoulder. Pain like none he had experienced before radiated out from the wound as Luxx gratuitously twisted it, digging it deeper and relishing in Muriel’s cries.

In a last act of desperation, Muriel reached out. Grasping desperately for contact, he managed to get a grip on Luxx’s hair.

Without caring about consequence, Muriel ripped the man from his back and sent him to the ground as hard as he could.

There was the chilling sound of a crack as the man collided against the hard ground beneath, crumpling in on himself before going still. The only indication he was still alive were the gurgling breaths that wheezed out of his prone form.

Muriel nearly toppled forward himself, the blade still lodged in his shoulder. He focused on breathing. Breathing and staying upright as he turned back to face Morga, who scowled down at them both.

Mostly at Luxx though.

Muriel wasn’t sure if it was just the way his vision swam as he approached shock, but she almost looked saddened at the way Luxx laid limp on the ground.

Everyone in the sidelines leaning in, eager for Morga’s verdict.

She looked slowly between the two of them, her upper lip twitching at a low moan Luxx gave, before shaking her head.

“Finish him.” She ordered.

Muriel just blinked at her. In honesty, it took a moment for him to process what she said, but even then, he continued to just stare at her.

As much as he originally thought that he could actually do it if it came down to this, he couldn’t. Instead, the mace slipped out from under his fingers, dropping hard onto the earth below. He wasn’t being defiant, he just didn’t have it in him to hold it up anymore.

Morga’s chin tilted upwards slightly, her scowl deepening.

“I have won,” he managed to choke out through the agony, voice wavering. “Luxx can no longer fight. He can survive this though, if you end this now so he can get healed.”

Morga watched him for a moment longer, considering his words. The weight of her gaze was nearly as oppressive as the dagger protruding out of his shoulder. The thought passed that maybe she was dragging the time out to see if Luxx would succumb to his injuries while she deliberated.

She didn’t look pleased, but eventually, she gave a deep sigh.

“Fine.” She said, pounding the butt end of her spear against the dirt to emphasize her point. “The Mirth takes this victory.”

Despite her scowl, her vocal confirmation of his victory caused the crowd to gasp nearly in unison. This was likely unprecedented for the tribe, a victory without death.

When one of Luxx’s entourage desperately ran forth though, skidding down towards his leader and calling desperately for medical aid, the shock faded from the crowd. They were conflicted, some cheered, others cried out, but they all seemed to join forces to crowd around Luxx.

Muriel managed to get a few steps away from the horde before collapsing down onto his knees, not able to hold himself up a moment longer.

 

 

“Muriel!” came the cries of both Petya and the apprentice. They fought through the bodies to run up beside him, looking over him in panic.

“Apprentice, lend me your power.” Petya spoke sharply, reaching out a hand for the apprentice to grasp. His free hand reached out to the hilt of knife that still protruded from his back. “I’m sorry Shadow, this is going to hurt.”

With a quick yank, the blade was pulled from him, causing him to cry out involuntarily. Once it was removed, though, Petya placed his free hand solidly over the wound, applying pressure and pouring magic through himself. It washed over him like the warmth of sunlight as the bleeding slowed, electrified by the apprentice’s lent power.

It caused the muscles to jump and twitch, like they had when the apprentice healed him that one fateful day in the hut. With Petya’s aid, the rush of blood slowed considerably, leaving behind jagged lines of scabbing tissue where the wounds were sealed.

The pain remained, though. Petya was able to cauterize, but the extent of his injuries went beyond both his and the apprentice’s capabilities.

Once the threat of Muriel bleeding out was addressed, Petya laid a shaking hand on his shoulder.

“This is all I can do now.” He apologized, panting out his breaths. The lines of his face looked deeper than Muriel had ever seen them. He looked just as exhausted as Muriel felt.

“Thank you.” Muriel breathed, trying to convey his sincerity despite the grunt of his voice.

He knew he should feel some sort of joy at surviving. He had won, against all odds.

And yet all he could see was that horrified expression on the apprentice’s face as they had watched him fight.

He didn’t dare risk a look in their direction. Instead, he hung his head in shame.

He felt light-headed and he swayed where he knelt. He tried fighting down the quiver of his bottom lip, squeezing his eyes shut against the sting of the lingering sand and the overwhelming urge to just sob.

As he tried to clench shaking fists against the ground, a bright chorus of voices bounded up to him.

“Champion!” They cheered, breathy laughs escaping them as the group of Scourge attendants stopped in front of him.

“Quite a beating you took, but you came through!” The short man bellowed, his voice carrying above the chaos over by Luxx.

“Well… sort of.” The woman laughed, not seeming bothered by Muriel’s agony. “Come on, let’s get you the springs.”

She reached out a hand to him. They all did, offering their support.

“It’s a healing bath,” the youngest one clarified, reading Muriel’s lack of movement as hesitation. “The druid’s imbued it with all sorts of restoration charms and magical whatnots. A soak in there and you’ll be good as new!”

Muriel turned his head over to Luxx, earning him a collective sigh from the group.

“It’s only for victors.” One insisted with a frown. “We’ve broken enough rules already, there’s no need to invoke Vlagnagog’s wrath more than we already have.”

“Only a Mirth victor would try and give his victory bath to the loser,” The short man chuckled with a shake of his head, as if this whole situation was quite amusing to him. “Fret not, you big-hearted fool, they’ve got the best healers in the camp on Luxx’s case. His lackeys’ll make sure he’s okay.”

Muriel paused for a second, but the prospect of healing was too enticing to refuse. As tattered as he was, the Scourge hands managed to haul him back up to his feet.

He fought the urge to look over his shoulder, to see Petya and the apprentice before he was led off, but his will was weak. He had to know.

He risked a glance and caught the apprentice’s gaze.

They still looked horrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (For the kohl markings, I was visualizing a mix between Muriel's childhood blanket, his bear mask, and the June vallaslin from DA:I. I sketched it out so if I ever get around to drawing it properly I'll link it here)
> 
> Also, great news! You’ve done it!  
> You’ve made it through enemies, you’ve made it through friends, and now…  
> Well, let’s just say the next chapter is a lil treat from me to you <3


	27. Sparks and Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :^)

Muriel swayed on his feet as he shuffled after the Scourge hands. They didn’t seem too concerned at his injured state, but they would still stop if they got too far ahead to let him catch up. They lead him down a path that had been lined with stone, a marked trail for them to follow.

The adrenaline in his veins was being quickly being replaced by exhaustion. It felt like it clung to his bones and weighed him down, like tendrils of the earth itself were trying to pull him down under. Each movement forward was a struggle, but he still made it, step by step, without complaint.

Muriel made it his new routine: right then left, right then left. He focused only on dragging one foot out ahead of the other. It was monotonous, but it’s what he held onto to keep the looming haze of shock from settling in on his mind. He was dizzy, light-headed, and he wasn’t about to let that take over him.

He was told that his sole responsibility as victor was to make it to the springs unaided. It was frowned upon that he had already gotten healed before the trek, meaning the stakes weren’t as high. Apparently, it was a post-battle tradition to eagerly watch and see if the victor could make it to the healing springs before succumbing to their own injuries.

What little audience had left Luxx to watch looked positively bored as Muriel, who stared intently down at the ground before him, staggered along.

He didn’t care though. He didn’t see himself as anything like that in this moment: he wasn’t a victor, wasn’t a survivor, nothing like that. In this moment, he was merely a man who could put one foot after the other, repeatedly.

When his Scourge guides suddenly turned and shot encouraging smiles back his way, Muriel looked up to find stone-bricked walls just ahead.

The healing springs were walled in with dark, smooth stones, a stark contrast the rest of the camp’s pale wooden build. The other bathhouses in the camp were also stoned in, so as not to cause rot, but even they were lighter in colour. This structure looked distinctly out of place, like an ancient monument standing alone in a new city.

The building was rounded, tapering up to an open tip where the steam was directed to float up into the orange hue of the dusk sky.

As he neared, he noticed strings of patterns were carved into the stones. The entire wall featured an intricately detailed mural of runes and magical glyphs. Some he recognized, others seemed too complicated to even begin to understand. They glowed faintly, a golden yellow light peeking out from where the inner stone was exposed.

The aura of magic to the building was so thick, Muriel felt as though he could taste it. It was like walking a little too close to a bonfire, the energy of it was almost overwhelming.

He blinked in shock as he distinctly felt the magic reach out to him. A sudden compulsion to enter came over him, as if the structure itself was trying pull him in. It felt like a doting mother trying to pull her child back in her arms, it wanted to tuck his injured body inside to heal.

As the magic wrapped gently around him, the intensity of the aura didn’t fade, but it was as if he became accustomed to it. It felt right. Drawn to it, Muriel felt a renewed energy surge through him. He no longer had to focus his entire concentration on the simple movement of a step, but was able to merely walk up to the entranceway.

The Scourge attendants gave him knowing smiles, obviously having seen this scene before.

“Celebrate, Mirth, you’ve earned it.” The short man said with a smile, tugging at the pelt cloak for Muriel to shrug it off. A couple of the hands came up to help unfasted the leather, leaving him with only the belt and loincloth.

“The rest you can leave in there, we’ll send your own clothes in later.” The woman assured, laying the straps over her arm. “Now all there is left for you to do is relax and heal.”

He was surprisingly touched by how proud this group of Scourge looked at him. He had known them for less than a day, but their genuine support wasn’t overlooked.

He wasn’t sure if it was the wash of magic that had enveloped him, but the corners of his lips twitched upwards as he watched them all beam at him while waving bye as they turned to leave him be.

Once he was finally alone, he let the magic of the springs lead him in.

                                                                                                                   

 

Most of the light inside came from brightly burning torches that danced their light over the masonry, accented by the glow of the runes.

More slabs of stone, different from those of the walls, were laid like tile to cover the ground surrounding the natural spring. As Muriel walked closer, he saw how impossibly vivid the blue hue of the water was. There were more of the carvings placed inside it, causing the water to glow itself. Wisps of steam drifted lazily up from its surface, curling in a way that almost looked like it was beckoning him in.

It was tempting to just walk in as he was now, loincloth and all, but a collection of hanging robes off to the side caught his attention. They were mostly sheer, growing more opaque towards the bottom to give some semblance of decency. And, of course, they were red.

He untied his makeshift belt and let it and the loincloth fall to the ground in a pile. He wobbled a bit as he stepped out, but he regained his balance with ease as if steadied by some unseen force. The largest robe available just barely reached around his waist, enough for him to tie it shut, but there was no way his arms were fitting in the delicate sleeves, so he just let the top half hang down behind him.

As he pulled the robe around himself, he was surprised to find the first hints of yellowing were coming to the edges of bruises, like they were already starting to fade.

It wasn’t until he sunk himself into the warm water that the magic at play really became obvious.

He had lowered himself into a nook at the edge of the hotspring, facing the entranceway. As nice of a treat as this was, Muriel wasn’t foolish enough to let his guard down in a bricked-up building with only one exit. It was an ambush waiting to happen, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t finding himself relaxing far more than he should.

It was obvious that the pool itself was a natural formation, irregular in its shape compared to the meticulously laid stones around it, its edges twisted in jagged angles around the room. He found the imperfection of it actually put him at ease, it was more real, and made the incredible qualities of it even more impressive.

The water felt better than any he had been in before. The temperature was perfect, spreading an almost golden warmth through him, making him sigh. The water itself felt different too. He pulled a hand up, letting it drain through his fingers. It felt thicker than normal water but not actually more viscous. It was as if it held together more, the droplets more emphasized, even animated in the way they rolled down his arm.

There was a small stream that fed into the spring from outside. It was within arm’s reach from where he sat, so he stretched out to dip his hand in it to test it out. As soon as his fingertips touched it though, he yanked his hand back. The water from the steam was scalding. But despite the temperature, it felt normal. The magic from the stones must have some sort of effect only on the water that stayed within them.

When he dipped his burnt hand back into the spring water, the redness faded immediately.

He looked down his arm and nearly jumped when he saw his flesh knitting back together. It felt odd, but it was also a bit exhilarating. The magic warmth reached deep within him before emanating out through his rapidly mending wounds. He felt like the stones, the magic of the healing springs peeking out through the gouges in his skin, healing to seal the golden glow back within him.

Hiking up the skirt of the robe, Muriel watched in fascination as the deepest cut on his thigh sealed up completely, leaving nothing but a thin scar. It was nothing like the ragged white stripes that marked the rest of his body, some of which had been from lesser wounds.

The strangest sensation of it all though, even more so than the feeling of skin sealing back together, was how the glow settled inside him. It warmed him from the pit of his stomach, to his heart, even up to his brain. It rested somewhere deep within him, like his magic, and stretched to reach every corner of his being.

When he took a breath, his chest felt… lighter.

It was odd, but the sensation of renewal and healing wasn’t limited to just his physical body. A confidence blossomed within him, a clarity of mind that he didn’t think he had ever had before.

Beyond it all, there was a nudging thought brought forward from the back of his mind where he had tried to lock it away. It was the full, dawning comprehension of what exactly it was he was feeling for the apprentice.

His fear, all the hesitations stemming from his own insecurity, ebbed. It didn’t disappear completely, but it was dethroned from its spot at the forefront of his mind. Enough to bring attention to how much of an obstacle it had become.

He saw it for what it was. Petya had been right, he was only denying himself out of some form of self-preservation.

He felt immense amounts of genuine guilt for his time at the Coliseum, but deep down he also knew that those crimes were committed by a forced hand. He held no malice to those people, he hadn’t wanted to hurt them. Inherently, he wasn’t the monster that he had tried to convince himself he was.

Because it was easier to punish a monstrous caricature of himself than recognize there really wasn’t anything that could be done to make it up to those he hurt.

Because convincing himself he was a dangerous thing to be kept away from the apprentice was easier than the truth: that he was scared.

It was the fear of being known. Every instinct ingrained in him from when he first set foot on those Vesuvian docks told him never let himself be vulnerable. If he let the apprentice know him, if he let them be close, he would have to open up to them. He would have to admit his crimes out loud, be judged for them by someone who he cared for so deeply.

It was the fear of rejection. Being vulnerable would mean opening up despite the possibility of being hurt, and rejection from the apprentice would hurt. A lot. There was no denying that Muriel was a broken man, mere shades and shambles of what he could have been. Even the smallest bit of affection he received from the apprentice brought bitter insecurities bubbling up in his throat. He had felt like he was acting in a façade, that if they actually knew who they were choosing to share such wonderful moments with, Muriel would never get to be a part of that experience.

And finally, it was also the fear of the unknown. This was a journey without precedent for him. It had been easy with Asra, they were both young and in need of someone to trust. Their relationship was mostly born of circumstance and grew easily from there. With the apprentice though, he had no idea what he was doing, and that terrified him. He could do it wrong. He could hurt them.

He mulled the truth over, finding it shockingly easy to consider. Before, even approaching the topic would have caused his breath to catch in his throat. Now, with the assistance – and insistence – of the magic, they felt merely like facts and observations, no different than if he was doing something as mundane as considering the colour of a flower.

It was then, though, that his train of thought was cut short.

There was a groan of hinges, and a sliver of sunlight peeked into the room as the entranceway was opened just a crack.

Muriel shot up, the energy of the springs flowing through him, but stopped cold when he heard the familiar call of the apprentice’s voice.

“Muriel?”

He sighed, letting himself sink back into the water.

“Can I come in?”

He gave an affirming hum.

The apprentice slipped into the room, their movements hesitant as they kept their head bowed and their back to the wall.

The image of their horrified expression flashed before his eyes before he too turned his gaze downwards.

“Are… are you okay?” Their voice shook slightly, out of fear he supposed.

He had spent so much time trying to address his own fears that he had forgotten one crucial point: their fear of him.

He found himself nodding, but since neither of them were actually looking at each other, he spoke up.

“Yes.” His voice sounded gruff to his own ears.

They out of a shaking sigh before wrapping their arms around themselves.

“They took Luxx out of the camp, they are bringing him to a place of magic, where it will be easier for him to recover. The druid assured us that he would survive, though.”

Muriel let out a breath, “Thank you.”

“Muriel…” The way they said his name made him look up at them.

His eyes were met with their glistening ones, tears brimming again and threatening to spill.

“I-I thought I was going to lose you.” Their voice hitched as they spoke, tightening their grip on themselves.

All he could do was blink, torn between wanting to respect the distance they had put between them and wanting to run up to hold them himself.

“I’m sorry.” They said eventually, having calmed themselves slightly. “You asked me not to be there, so I shouldn’t have been. I spooked you and you got hurt because of me, and for that I am so, so sorry.”

“Don’t be. You did nothing wrong.”

Despite everything, a small smile rose on their face.

“You’re too forgiving.”

He twisted, showing them the back of his shoulder where a blade had once been lodged but now only a small star-like white scar remained. He also held up his arm, the one the apprentice and Petya and worked so hard to stop the bleeding of. It was in perfect working order, hardly a mark left on it. A peek over his shoulder showed that they looked relieved, not afraid.

“I was so scared,” they admitted, taking a step closer. “When Luxx lunged at you like that…”

Muriel raised a hand to stop them when their voice wavered.

“I’m fine now.” He tried to sound as reassuring as possible, gesturing down at the water.

They gave a breathy sort of laugh, walking around the edge of the pool to come even closer.

“This place really is incredible.” They sighed, seeming to relax as they looked around to take in the room. “This magic is more powerful than anything I have ever seen, and yet it’s so gentle.” As they spoke, their gaze landed back on him.

Muriel gave an awkward sort of shrug. He was admittedly confused, and wasn’t sure how to read the apprentice. They had calmed considerably, their tears had dried and a smile grew on their face as they came closer.

“You did it.” They took a seat by the edge, being mindful to not get their clothes wet. They shook their head in disbelief. “By some miracle you did it.”

“It wasn’t all a luck.” He frowned, going back to stare down at the water. It laid still as they spoke, creating a placid, reflective surface.

In his reflection, he could see his face. He could see the furrow of his brows as he looked down at himself. He saw the lines of kohl that had smudged from the action of the day, the stray locks of hair that escaped his ponytail to hang over his face, and even how much cleaner the cut of his stubble was. The bags under his eyes had faded, along with some of the lines of his brow. He almost looked younger, as if the stress he carried on his shoulders aged him.

He looked apprehensive. He remembered the promise he made himself before entering the ring: he would tell them everything. Now, he understood the fear that had been holding him back, but his tongue still felt thick in his mouth. He knew it was time, but it wasn’t going to be easy.

“I was a gladiator.” The confession was followed by silence. His breath caught in his throat, and he didn’t dare move.

He didn’t meet their gaze, he had to say everything he needed to say before his feelings got the better of him.

“I have killed before.” He spoke slowly to try and fight the way his voice broke. The water seemed to cling around him, as if embracing him as he made his confession. “This is the first fight I’ve had that didn’t end in death. I took so many lives with my own hands. Any new opponent, willing or unwilling, I was put up against I had to kill. So that’s what I did. For _years_.”

In his periphery, he could see the apprentice take a deep breath as he spoke.

“You were ‘The Scourge of the South’.” They didn’t sound surprised. Rather, it was as if they were stating a known fact.

He looked up at them then, startled but how soft and sympathetic their expression was. They didn’t look afraid at all.

“I realized that when I saw you holding your own out there today.” Their voice was hardly more than a whisper. “It… made sense. It made a lot of things make sense, actually.”

Delicately, they reached out to place the lightest touch of fingertips over Muriel’s shoulder. When he didn’t move away, they rested the hand their fully.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me anymore?” He found himself blurting out at their touch.

They raised a brow in confusion at first, but then a warm smile spread over their face.

“I have never been afraid of you, Muriel.” They said slowly, emphasizing every word.  “I’ve never had to be.”

“You should be.”

“And why is that?”

“I just told you, I am a murderer.” His voice caught on the last word as he admitted it out loud.

“Would you ever intend to hurt me?”

“No.”

They gave him a knowing look. “That’s why I’m not afraid of you.”

“But in the arena, you were…”

“I was never scared _of_ you.” They sighed as they realized what he was getting at. “I was scared _for_ you. I care so much about you Muriel, I couldn’t bear to see you hurt.”

He was sure he was staring, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

He had told them his dreaded truth, and they didn’t even cower away. In fact, his admission seemed to bring them in closer.

“I see why you were so hesitant to accept a new beginning, a clean slate.” They hummed, meeting his wide eyes with theirs. They were looking at him like he was something precious. “Thank you for telling me.”

He swallowed thickly as they leaned in closer lightly dragging the backs of their fingertips across his cheek.

“It’s hard to hear, I’ll admit, but the amount of remorse you hold is undeniable. I know you, Muriel, you did what you had to do. You were just as much a victim of the violence of the Coliseum as any other gladiator was.”

Muriel grimaced. At least he-

“At least you’re still alive?” They guessed from his expression. “Lucky me.” They breathed a laugh before returning to their serious tone. “You didn’t ask for it, I’m sure.”

Muriel shook his head no. He had never wanted to become a gladiator in the first place.

“You’re a survivor. You made it out of the docks, you made it out of the Coliseum, you built a life for yourself in the woods, and now, you’re still here. And through it all, you have never lost your compassion. The world has tried time and time again to take your golden heart away and you haven’t let it.” As they spoke, they leaned in closer, ducking down slightly to be eye-level with him. He was captivated, the affection clear in their voice. Something about the magic helped him fight against the instinct to cower away as they drew near. “Muriel, you’re incredible. You’re the strongest person I know, and that’s not even counting physical strength.” They gave him another smile as they demonstratively squeezed his shoulder under their hand.

In that moment, they were both vulnerable. The way they held each other’s gaze seemed to make the rest of the world fall away. They embraced each other’s truth as well as the charge of the air between them, sparks and honey, drawing them both closer together.

That was, until the apprentice swayed as they were leaned in, nearly toppling them over into the spring. They were able to catch themselves quickly, but still had to stifle a yawn as they did.

“Sorry, Petya really drained me back there,” they said sheepishly.

“The spring can help.” He offered, trying to calm the blush on his fact at the implication.

With them there, the way the looked at him, Muriel couldn’t bring himself to think about his past. He was too preoccupied with the bright smile they sent his way as they pushed themselves up to go put on a bath robe. He turned quickly, facing his back to them, as they set their bag down and began shedding their layers, face impossibly hot.

 

The whole situation seemed surreal to him. He had won yet another battle, confessed the truth of his past to the apprentice, and now they were slipping into the water beside him, a bright smile back on their face.

He was sure that in any other space, his brain would have likely fried from it all, but the magic of the springs carried him onwards. It made him so bold as to even lean back against the side to make room in the nook for the apprentice to fit in with him, tucked up against his side.

The magic didn’t help the roaring blush that rose to his face when he had watched the apprentice move around in the water. They had sighed in the warmth, laughing in delight as the healing magic washed over, rejuvenating them.

They had even been so bold as to send a wink his way as the thin fabric of the robe draped down off their shoulders. It certainly did not help him that the fabric had seemed to cling to every inch of their body, something they were not particularly modest about as waded over to join him.

They had rested their head against him much like they had the night of the bonfire, before the whole ordeal with Luxx escalated. 

Now, they hummed contentedly as they found his hand under the water, twining their fingers together as they kept close.

For the first time, Muriel felt no hesitation. They knew who he was, and they had accepted him. They still reached for his hand despite knowing that he had done, what he was capable of. They still trusted him.

He looked down at the soft curve of their lips, the kindness in their eyes, the way the water danced light over their features. It was all beautiful to him, something incredible and monumental. Muriel was captivated. His heart overflowed, the warmth of the water and their touch spread through his veins until it became his whole being.

In the moment, he felt as if he could be singularly defined. Not by his seclusion, his past, or his crimes, but solely for the overwhelming amount he cared for the person before him. The beginnings of, dare he say, love.  

He was bursting at the seams, he needed to express this, to find a way to share this revelation with them before the moment passed. He wished desperately for the power to string together words perfectly, to roll his love off his tongue, to speak the profound.

Because that was what they were to him: profound. There was a way that each little, mundane thing they did seemed to touch his very soul.

Doing nothing to still his pounding heart or shaking hands, they blinked up at him, their eyelashes sparkling with lingering drops of the spring water. They look at him without any hesitations of their own, doing nothing to hide the longing in their eyes as they sighed.

A longing that he was sure he himself was mirroring.

Their touch drifted, the hand not in his roaming over him, tracing the light scars where deep wounds had been earlier that day. They were so close, pressed up against his side. From where they rested their head, a mere stretch of his neck and he could kiss their brow the way he had earlier that day.

He was certainly tempted to, but there was something else he needed to do.

The apprentice had been endlessly patient with him. They knew his boundaries and went out of their way to try and accommodate them. For that, he was grateful, but now it was his turn.

He blushed again at the thought of his next words, but there was no going back now. He turned to look away, knowing he’d never be able to say it to them if he held their eyes. He coughed lightly to clear his throat before steeling his resolve and just getting it out.

“Can I kiss you?”

Muriel closed his eyes, willing his face to cool. He felt a little silly, just blurting the question out like some lovesick fool.

Well, not exactly ‘like’ one, he undoubtably was one.

The apprentice reached up, gently guiding his chin to face them again.

“I didn’t complain when you kissed me earlier.” They teased, that mischievous glint back in their eye.

Muriel could feel himself flustering, but the apprentice just seemed to smile wider at him as he did.

“Yes, Muriel. I want you to.” They assured, nearly giddy as they answered.

So Muriel did just that. He pressed a kiss softly to their brow.

When he pulled back, they smiled so impossibly bright at him that it took his breath away.

They began to lean in themselves, closing the tantalizing gap between them so slowly that it seemed to charge the air between them.

Even though he had been the one to ask them, they were giving him room to refuse, to pull back if he didn’t want it. In some strength that he found within himself, he didn’t shy away.

Because, by the divine, he wanted this.

Intimacy was certainly something that Muriel lacked in his life. Touches were often fleeting, even kisses from Asra were mostly chaste.

As the apprentice drifted their hands over him, it was different. Their touch lingered, exploring the slick skin exposed by the robe. It felt as though their touch left its own glow in its wake. As feather-light as their fingertips were brushing over his chest, each point of contact felt as though it seared his skin, branding him as theirs.

He welcomed the sensation gladly.

As wonderful as their grazing touch was, it was nothing compared the feeling when he leaned in, riding a surge of bravery, to place his lips over theirs.  

That first brush of their lips on his was also different. Again, the touch lingered, both of them hesitant to push it further.

Despite the gentleness, it ignited something in him.

There was a passion, a desire that brimmed just beneath the surface that had been growing since that first letter tucked into his door.

In the moment, all that mattered was them. They knew who he was now, fully, and they had accepted him.

He wasn’t sure if it was remnants of the fight’s adrenaline or the rush of emotion that came with their touch, but with the small sigh they breathed on his lips, he was able to silence any anxieties that had risen with surprising ease. He instead let himself embrace the tenderness of their touch, melting into them.

He leaned into it, as if gravitated towards them, to the energy of their magic, of their touch. His small movement closer, his unspoken consent to the tentative question of their touch, triggered something in them. They leaned back, their pupils blown wide, before they silently rose from their spot at his side.

Muriel worried for second that maybe something was wrong, but they came back, repositioned to stand between his legs. They reached up to cup his jaw, their desire written clearly on their face, before swooping down onto him, fully capturing his lips with theirs as they stole his breath away.

One of their hands threaded into the loose strands of hair that escaped his ponytail at the nape of his neck, tugging his head back slightly to change the angle of the kiss, deepening it in a way he had so rarely experienced prior. From where they stood, their face was above his, so he nearly floated upwards into their touch as they kissed down onto him. It was dizzying and wonderful all at once. He tried to keep his own awkwardness at bay and just embrace the touch, relying on instinct to lead him through it.

They would pull back momentarily for a breath, only to sigh his name and swoop right back down. It wasn’t just kissing either, they’d drag their tongue across his bottom lip. They’d stray from his mouth and kiss along his jawline before coming back to steal his breath all over again. Once, they nipped his lip lightly, lathering attention over the spot after.

He tasted the sweetness of them, felt the warmth of their mouth, of their touch. They gripped him with near desperation, as if they thought this could all be taken from them at any moment.

As if they had been craving this as much as he had.

Muriel knew now that he would never be able to look at them the same way ever again. He was having a hard-enough time already each time the two tried to separate, a needy noise would escape his throat and his eyes would zero in on their glistening, swollen lips and it would start all over again.

When they finally pushed away from each other, needing to physically separate themselves in order to catch a proper breath, a deep blush settled on both of their cheeks. It was a bit embarrassing, to have gotten so lost in one another’s touch, but it was so wonderfully affirming. 

The apprentice brought a hand up to touch his lips, grazing a finger lightly over the swollen skin.

“You’re smiling,” they breathed, a fascinated, breathy laugh escaping them.

He reached up and touched his own face to confirm, and he was. It wasn’t just an upward tilt of the corners of his mouth either, it was a genuine smile, fueled by the contagious joy of both the spring and the apprentice.

“It’s enticing.” They gave him a smile in return, leaning back in to recapture him.

That confidence returned, the one that echoed Petya’s words, that he deserved happiness. Running with it, he moved his hands from their hesitant placement on their hips and instead wrapped fully around the apprentice.

It felt as good as he imagined to pull them close and let them fold into him. The apprentice didn’t object. Rather, they breathed a laugh against him and kissed him harder in response.

Muriel knew it would be impossible to deny himself now, knowing that by doing so he would be denying the apprentice this as well.

The apprentice laughed, that joyous sound that positively melted Muriel’s heart.

“We’re like teenagers, can’t keep our hands off each other.” They breathed.  

Muriel just blinked up at them, still captivated.

They reached a hand up and delicately brushed the back of their fingers across his cheek, tracing the scar that marked it.

“You know, Muriel.” They gave him a small smile, starting to lean in slightly again as they mused, “Those Scourge hands really dolled you up. I can’t take my eyes off you.”

He gave some sort of grunt, looking away bashfully but the apprentice caught his chin. They gently guided him to look back up at them.

“You look exceptionally pretty.” They hummed, giving him a wink as they traced the marks of kohl over his cheekbone, then up over his forehead before planting a quick kiss on it. “It’s a shame to see it go, but here, let me wash it for you.”

They found a cloth, softer than any Muriel had ever felt before, and dipped it into the spring before carefully wiping away the kohl from his face. He kept his eyes closed as they worked away at, just embracing the intimate moment.

Once they were satisfied with the amount of kohl they had gotten off his face, they made their way downwards, scrubbing any dirt and grime that had accumulated over the skin of his arms, his chest, and his stomach. It was surprisingly pleasant to just sit back, at their insistence, and enjoy the sensation of it. They’d drag the cloth over him, planting small kisses along the way.

Muriel couldn’t remember the last time he was this relaxed. It was nothing like being pampered by the Scourge hands. The intimacy he shared with the apprentice as they would trail kisses down his freshly cleaned arm, across his collarbone, or even the stray pecks to his cheek they would give were incomparable.

Eventually the used cloth was tossed aside once it had served its purpose. The apprentice returned to their spot tucked in against his side and let out a deep, contented sigh.

“This is nice.” They breathed as they took his hand back, holding their interlaced fingers above the water so they could both see them.

Muriel tightened his grip in theirs. 

He couldn’t agree more.


	28. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being gone so long! This chapter in the original plan was going to be more angsty, less mushy but I figured you all deserved a treat for being so patient with me. So instead, strap in for some fluff bc boy howdy is this a long one. I also adapted a bit of the dialogue from the latest chapter in this one because it was just too cute.

Dressed and dried, Muriel found himself unable to leave the closeness of the apprentice. With caution, hesitation, and insecurity thrown to the wind (or into the water?), he was left to the mercy of their magnetic pull. To his relief, they didn’t seem to mind his sudden need for closeness.

It wasn't until they flashed that bright smile up at him that he realized he had subconsciously returned to their side immediately after they reemerged from behind the changing curtain.

He mumbled some nonsense to try and excuse himself, the flush of his face giving away his embarrassment, and took the dripping bathrobe from them. As he hung it up beside his, the apprentice startled him by coming up behind and circling their arms around his waist.  

“It’s okay, Muriel.” They laughed lightly, giving a playful squeeze and nuzzled their face against his back. “I like it when you’re near.”

He froze in place as their words. Even though he was facing away from them, he knew they’d be able to see his blush spread to his ears. Despite the way his heart raced, he could feel the corners of his pursed lips twitching upwards at the thought.

The apprentice loosened their grip on him as he turned so the two could face each other. Their smile widened when they got a better look at him.

Before he could say anything, they pulled him in tight again, pressing the side of their face up against his chest and humming with delight.

“Thank you for letting me do this.” They sighed into the embrace.  

“I-it’s fine.” He managed to say, mentally kicking himself for not being able to keep his voice steady. He was too overcome with the strange thought that maybe that magnetism he felt was be mutual.

They nuzzled back into him at that.

He startled slightly, though, when he felt the warmth of their lips press over where his heart thrummed in his chest.

“Why did you do that?” he sputtered, pulling back slightly to look down at them over his collar.

“I don’t know,” they shrugged with a concerningly sultry look. They pulled away, lifting a hand to lazily trace a finger down his chest. “I suppose I just like kissing you.”

Now, Muriel was pretty familiar with the feeling of not being able to put eloquent phrases together or weave effortlessly flirty quips like the magicians he knew, but what he was experiencing right now was something else entirely.

He felt like he would sooner hear the whistling of wind through his head before he would be able to form a single coherent thought.

At what must have been a dumbfounded expression on his face, the apprentice just gave a soft laugh, reaching to take his hand. They brought the backs of his knuckles to their lips and pressed more kisses there before moving it to cup their cheek. They leaned into it with a sigh.

“Sorry, I just can’t help myself around you.” After a moment’s thought, they turned into his palm to press a kiss there too. “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long, I’m making up for lost time.”

The heat of his face was matched only by the warmth in his chest.

Time was something Muriel felt had never really been on his side. The thought that this was something he could be doing, that he could have experienced something as wonderful as this, made him agree with their choice of words. It certainly had been time lost.

He remembered Petya’s words then, that you never know how long someone will be in your life.

He had lost the apprentice once before. Now, by some miracle, they were here again, peppering his hand with kisses despite knowing what those hands had done.

_Make each day count._

He decided there was no point in losing any more. He wrapped them in closer, resting his cheek atop their head and just breathed them in for a moment, relishing in the embrace.

He could feel them smile against him and he dared to let himself smile too, hiding it in their hair.

That was, until he felt a cool wash of familiar magic emanate from the pool. In the second it took him to place where he knew it from, he had already pulled the apprentice behind him, making sure they were safe before anything else.

The centre of the pool glowed and bubbled strangely as the two slowly approached with bated breath and hands intertwined.

It wasn’t until there was a distinct pop of magic that Asra’s figure formed in the pool.

The magician breathed their names in relief when he saw them.

The two of them rushed up to the edge of the pool then, getting a closer look at the apparition.

“You’re safe.” Asra sighed, seeming to teeter between tears and laughs.

Muriel could only nod, his voice had caught in his throat. There was no way he would be able to tell his dear friend everything that had happened up until then. He especially couldn’t say anything about the day's events.

“We are for now.” The apprentice said for him, but their solemn tone gave away their own worries.

“Will you be coming home now?” Asra asked, sounding hopeful.

“We should be soon. Muriel earned us some credit with the tribe leader here, so if all goes right, we should be able to get what we need and make it out of here by midday tomorrow.”

The realness of the situation hit Muriel then. They could go home soon. He could return soon to his hut, Inanna, _Asra_ …

The most he could do then was just squeeze the apprentice’s hand and let out a breath.

At that, though, the topic shifted. The slight movement from him caught Asra’s eye and Muriel felt like he watched it in slow motion. Asra’s gaze trailed down to where his and the apprentice’s hands were intertwined, then his brows shot up nearly to his hairline as realization dawned on his face.

Muriel wasn’t sure at first how his friend would take this. He hadn’t really thought about it until now, but he may be overstepping a bit, considering how open Asra was about his love for the apprentice.

His worry was short-lived, however, as a peal of delighted laughter escaped the magician.

“Muri!” Asra’s eyes practically sparkled as he gasped.

Muriel stood frozen at the reaction, a bit taken aback, before a flaming blush overtook his face and he had to look away from his friend, who was practically bouncing in place. Even Faust had peeked her head from wherever she had been hanging to curiously flick her tongue out at him.

The apprentice began to laugh along with their watery friend as they came up beside him to rest their head against his shoulder, keeping his hand tight in theirs.

Despite the slight embarrassment, their laughter was contagious. It had been so long since he had heard such pure glee from either magician. It wasn’t long before he was fighting to keep his mouth a straight line.

“Aw, I feel like I’m missing out.” Asra jokingly pouted, sending a wink to the apprentice who laughed it off.

“It's been a pretty recent development. I’d say ‘overdue,’ personally.” They grinned up at him and Muriel had to look away again.

“I really miss you two.” Asra sighed, but his smile stayed. “Come back to me safe, okay?”

Before they could respond, Asra was nearly pushed out of view as a large bulk of fur tried to squeeze in to take a look.

Inanna sniffed curiously at the water, snorting before she looked in to see Muriel and the apprentice.

The look in her eyes and the smug huff she gave told him _it’s about time._

Feeling surprisingly childish, he had to resist the urge to stick his tongue out at her. He opted instead to flash her a scowl, but the wolf looked far too pleased with the situation that she didn’t even acknowledge it. Instead she plopped down on Asra, her head resting in his lap expectantly awaiting some scratches.

“She misses you guys too.” Asra laughed as he indulged her.

At that point, Muriel couldn’t contain it anymore. The a small smile escaped him as he sighed, “I know.”

“Stay safe. We’ll catch up soon.” Despite the cheery look on his face, there was a sad sort of edge to Asra’s words.

They all knew that any day spent in the Southlands could potentially be their last. It was a miracle they had survived as long as they had. Nobody dared say it though. Instead, the three opted to bid their farewells as if it was certain they would all meet again, safe and sound.

The pale blue water settled back into its placidity and the room fell back into silence.

It was a full minute or two before either of them dared break the silence. The only light in the springs, now that the sun had set, was the faint glow from the runes, the dancing light of the torches, and the water itself. It cast shadows down over the apprentice’s face, accenting the worry that had clouded their features once Asra had disappeared.

Muriel could tell that his face probably mirrored theirs as they considered the unspoken possibilities that these next few days would hold for them. It was going to be tough, undoubtedly.

He bent down a bit and reached his free hand up to ghost his fingertips over the knot of their brow, smoothing it out.  

The apprentice blinked up at him in surprise before that smile of theirs began to return.

He wanted to say something reassuring, to see that glimmer of hope in their eyes.

“Tomorrow, we go home.”

They let out a shaking breath as he trailed his touch down their cheek.

“Tomorrow.” They agreed with a determined nod.

With that, they collected their belongings, making sure they weren’t leaving anything behind. Muriel gave one last look to the discarded, bloody pile of fabric he had worn earlier that day. Before he could think back to all he had done, the apprentice found his hand again, bringing him back to the moment. They lifted it and pressed something into his palm. Looking down, he could see it was the strip of green fabric one of the Scourge hands had given him to tie his hair back earlier.

The apprentice raised a brow as they handed it over to him. In response to their unspoken question, he gave a small nod, folding it and placing it in his pocket with his casting sticks.

“Ready?” They asked as they squeezed his hand.

“Yeah.”

With that, hand-in-hand, they stepped back out into the world together.

 

 

Just as the apprentice had predicted on their walk back, their three traveling mates were beside themselves with worry.

Muriel felt an odd pang at the sight of them. They had all been waiting anxiously outside the lodge. Petya had been pacing a trench in the dirt while Ludovico and Bludmila sat close, quietly discussing something with worried looks before the three of them jumped up at the sight of him.

After a beat, they rushed up to him. Petya made it first, practically leaping over as he threw his arms around him and latching on to Muriel with a strength he never would have expected from the old man.

Muriel, in his shock, froze in place, unsure of what to do as Petya gave a particularly loud sniffle into his cloak.

Ludovico and Bludmila caught up then, giving him a hesitant look before giving in and joining Petya in the embrace.

The closeness of them all was a surprise. Admittedly, he hadn’t ever been particularly friendly to the two guards, and yet he had seen the tears in their eyes as they also wrapped themselves around him.

He held his arms up awkwardly as the three of them held him close. He hadn’t been expecting such a… touchy welcome. At least, though, the glow of the springs hadn’t left him yet. In fact, he didn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable as he thought he would in this situation.

He looked over at the apprentice for help, but they only gave him a sympathetic shrug before they too joined in, having him completely enveloped in the party’s impromptu group hug.

Baffled at the sheer amount of concern the three must have held for him, he just stood there and took it, letting them hold him tight. Once he got over the initial shock of it all, he wouldn’t say it felt bad, actually. Honestly, being over here with familiar, welcoming faces was quite a relief.

A sudden thought occurred to him. At the beginning of this journey, he never would have imagined being in this position. It had been a wild, unpredictable ride for him, but the least imaginable thing that had happened so far was him standing here in a tight hug from the guards, the bard from his past, and the apprentice (who he had kissed!) and enjoying it.

It may have been the lingering nerves from the day or whatever that blooming glow was that had settled in him from the springs, but a rumbling laugh bubbled up out of him at the absurdity of it all.

Four pairs of wide eyes in various stages of shock pulled back and stared at him as if they couldn’t believe what they had just heard.

Unable to stop himself now, a few more deep chuckles escaped him before their stares became so intense that his self-consciousness quieted him down. The familiar feel of heat dusting his cheeks made him look away, suddenly very aware of how close they all were.

After a beat, the guards let go and backed away before startling them all with loud whoops and cheers.

“You won!” Bludmila hollered, letting out a victory cry into the night sky. “Vesuvia wins!”

Ludovico chimed in to the excitement, hopping around and pumping his fists in the air.

The change in mood was surprising, but it was better than seeing them teary-eyed with quivering lips.

“By the divine, you’re alive and well.” Petya finally sniffled out once he pulled away, barely audible over the others. “Little Shadow, you’ve done it.”

Muriel mumbled out something that even he couldn’t parse. There was something about the fondness and pride in the older man’s eyes that almost made him squirm under his gaze.

The apprentice came up beside Petya and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze.

“He’s all healed up too, not a scratch left on him.”

“Oh, you checked him all over yourself, did you?” Petya hummed, narrowing his eyes playfully at the apprentice who themselves blushed at that.

The bard gave a pointed look down to where the two’s hands had already interlocked again before giving a small laugh and shake of his head.

“I’m so glad you’re safe Muriel.” He breathed again before turning to laugh at the display Ludovico and Bludmila were doing in their excitement.

“So you were the Scourge, weren’t you?” Ludovico panted out once the two of them worn themselves out.

Muriel felt his face contort into a grimace.

“Don’t call me that.” He nearly growled.

"Sorry!" Ludovico startled but didn’t seem take it personally at least, holding his hands submissively out in front of him with a bit of an embarrassed look.

“Yeah Lud, he’s far beyond that now.” Bludmila chimed in, giving him a swat to his shoulder. “He’s not the Count’s villain anymore, he’s... he's our champion.”

“You’re right…” Ludovico straightened suddenly, looking at Muriel with twinkle in his eyes. “You’re the Champion of Vesuvia!”

He sputtered a bit at that, taken aback. The two guards looked up at him in wonder as he struggled to piece together what this meant.

“Through one last, epic battle, our Champion won us the cure to the plague!” Ludovico grinned, panning a hand out to the sky to emphasize his tale.

“I can’t wait to tell everyone back home about this. ‘Infamous gladiator fights against his namesake to save all of Vesuvia!’”

Muriel just blinked at them, deciding their antics didn't need a response. As much as they went off about how they would weave the tale of his battle today back in Vesuvia, he knew it wouldn’t matter in the end. Once he took the myrrh away, he’d never have to hear about this again.

He thought that would probably be best for him, until the apprentice came up beside him and flashed him that smile of theirs.

“My hero.” They whispered to him and he felt his whole face go red.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Petya laugh.  

 

 

When the excitement finally died down, a silence had settled around the group, all of them complacent in a stolen moment of peace.

When Muriel saw Petya stifle a yawn, though, he motioned for them all to go inside the lodge.

“Actually, champion,” Bludmila said as she stopped him, sounding more like a palace guard again. “We’ve been relocated from these barracks to the ‘Victor’s Quarters.’”

“Yes,” Petya chimed in, waving off the help the apprentice was offering him despite his obvious exhaustion. “It seems that the Scourge are sticking to tradition despite the battle not ending in the way they had hoped.”

“I already brought all our stuff there. For a war tribe, these folk sure know how to treat a winner.” Ludovico beamed.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Bun. We should be leaving as soon as possible.” Petya warned.

“Tomorrow.” Muriel said with a grunt, eyes focused back down at the apprentice, who nodded.

Ludovico just shrugged and led them all over deeper into the camp.

As they walked, much like Muriel and the apprentice’s trip back to the lodge, any Scourge they encountered would step out of their way, clearing the path for the day’s victor.

“The wolf-druid-person…” Bludmila struggled to come up with a proper descriptor, “Anyways, you know who I’m talking about. She told us that this is only until sun-up. Then, all these privileges will be revoked. So it is probably best that we make it out of here tomorrow, who’s to say they would show us the same mercy our champion here showed that asshole earlier.” She spat on the ground when she brought up Luxx.

“We’re speaking with Morga tomorrow in the morning, then once we get our answers, we’re going to follow your escape plan.”

Muriel gave them a curious look.

“The four of us mapped out the fastest way for us to high-tail it outta here while you were being prepped for the fight earlier. Lud found our carriage so we can make a quick getaway.”

The thought hadn’t crossed his mind yet, but he was relieved to know that all of this had been planned out already.

“The apprentice here makes a pretty good strategist,” Ludovico said, “ever consider joining the palace as an advisor or something?”

The three of them chatted idly about potential future careers for the apprentice and Muriel tuned it out, content to just walk in silence with Petya.

That was, until he saw Petya stumble slightly over. Muriel’s reflexes were still sharp, so he was able to catch his shoulders before he could completely topple, but when he tried to right the bard, it became clear that he was beyond the point of keeping himself upright.

Without a second though, and to Petya’s surprise if the indignant squawk he let out was any indication, Muriel lifted the slight man to sling him over his shoulder.

“I’m not a corpse yet, boy.” Petya complained, trying to make his words sound sharp but his tiredness slurred them slightly. “Put me down!”

Muriel wasn’t about to leave the usually upbeat bard on the street like this, so he ignored Petya’s lame attempt to struggle free.

The apprentice came up to him, obviously trying to contain their laughter as they saw Muriel casually holding the struggling bard like a sack of potatoes.

“Here, Muriel, let me help-” They started before they had to dodge a half-hearted kick.

It took a couple of tries to get Petya, obviously completely worn out from the day’s stress and healing, situated for Muriel to carry him piggy-back, but once the man was settled, he finally gave in.

“Well,” Petya’s voice was muffled as he spoke directly into the thick fur of Muriel’s cloak, “At least this is the _most_ indignant way I’ve been carried through a town.”

“What would be the most?” Bludmila asked. Muriel and the apprentice trailed behind the guards so she had turned on her heel to walk backwards as she addressed him.  

Petya leaned over to send a sleepy glare at the guard over Muriel's shoulder, but when he was met with batting eyelashes for the story he groaned.

“Not in front of the child.” He mumbled, obviously already delirious with his exhaustion. “It’s inappropriate.”

Muriel could hear the guards snicker.

What child… was Petya talking about him?

As if to answer his question, Petya seemed to make up his mind. He lifted his head up and slapped his hands over Muriel’s ears before he recounted the short tale.

Muriel couldn’t quite make out everything he said, the hands over his ears effectively censoring most of it, but he picked up on the fact that there was alcohol and a “strapping, young barkeep” involved.

When Petya had finally taken his hands back, Muriel glanced over his shoulder to give the man a questioning look as to what that was all about, but it seemed that the moment he had put his head back against the furs, he had fallen asleep.

When he looked back ahead, Bludmila gave him a shrug with a smile before turning back around.  Muriel let it drop and it wasn't long before they arrived at the Victor’s Quarters.

From the outside, it didn't seem much different from the other lodges around it, albeit a bit smaller.

In the moonlight, a glint caught his eye. Looking up, he saw the handle of a gaudy dagger peeking out from on the roof. Taking a few steps back, he got a clearer view to confirm his suspicion. They weren't too far from where the fight had taken place, and the jewel-encrusted weapon was definitely one of Luxx's. It had been the last one he had in the ring, the one Muriel thew out, before the Scourge had grabbed another from his lackey.

The apprentice looked at him curiously as they held back the tapestry for him to go in. When they joined him to look up on the roof, they breathed a surprised laugh.

"Good aim." They said with a playful nudge to his ribs before the two of them continued on in.

Unlike the corridor of rooms their last lodging had been, this building only had two rooms. One was equipped with two sets of bunk beds and the other was a suite-style room with an oversized bed that sat opposite of a lit hearth. 

Muriel, with the guards’ help, slipped Petya off his back and into one of the bottom bunks. Once he was sorted out, Bludmila called out a sudden “Top bunk!” And scrambled up the ladder on the opposite set of beds.

“Aw, no fair!” Ludovico called out, but he was a moment too late as Bludmila had already staked her claim. "You always get top bunk."

"Then get faster." She hummed as she made herself comfy.

Muriel opted to ignore their squabble and instead looked over at the apprentice.

They looked almost nervous, staring down at the grain of the wooden floor. When he approached, they jumped slightly, but gave him a bright smile.

“So, uh, is this ‘good night,’ or…” they trailed off before breathing an awkward laugh.

He looked at them confused, unsure of what they meant.

“Well, there’s only one bed in the other room.” They clarified, a blush dusting their cheeks.

Oh.

He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to get the right words out, but opted to keep it closed because he felt he was starting to look a bit like a fish.

It wasn’t like they had slept together before. Well not _slept together_ (the passing thought surely flushed his entire face red), but just shared a bed. Would it be a big deal to ask them? Would it be presumptuous to ask them to share his bed after the day they had? He didn’t want them to feel like they had to or anything—

“Muriel.” They said, taking one of his hands with a smile. “I can see you overthinking this, so I’m letting you know now that I would like to join you, but I’m happy to sleep here if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“I-it’s fine.” He managed to get out despite how thick his tongue felt in his mouth. “You can come.”

The smile they gave him was so impossibly sweet, he had half a mind to revoke his offer right there just to make things easier for himself and his poor heart. When they followed his lead into the other room, though, he knew he made the right choice.

Seeing them smiling at him as the hearth warmed the room and danced its orange light over them, he felt right at home. It reminded him a bit of his hut despite being probably three times larger.

It was cozier than a Scourge accommodation had any right to be, frankly.

“Wow, that’s really soft.” The apprentice said as they took a seat at the foot of the bed to kick off their boots, trailing fingertips over the fabric of the blanket.

Muriel grabbed a couple of furs from the shelf to toss onto the bed. Even with the fireplace going, there was an undeniable chill settling in the air.

“Are you tired?” They asked, leaning back against the headboard of the oversized bed. They blinked up at him as he shook his head no. The springs had rejuvenated him, when he left it had felt as if he had just woken from an exceptionally good sleep. “Yeah, me neither.”

Once he stripped off his outerwear, they patted the spot beside them on the bed. Muriel sat down obediently.

With a sigh, they leaned in to rest their head against his shoulder. Their hand found his again and Muriel couldn’t help but melt into their touch.

“I came so close to losing you today.” They whispered, keeping their gaze fixed on the fire.

Muriel didn’t know what to say, so he just gave their hand a squeeze.

“I’m here.”

At that, they turned up to look at him.

They smiled softly, but the moment was interrupted by a small shiver that ran through them

Muriel wrapped an arm around them, pulling them in close. They shuffled closer, rearranging themselves to sit against his chest, between his legs. He wrapped his arms around their middle and they rested theirs over his.

"It's too cold this far south." they grumbled as they curled up against his warmth.

"Northener." He teased, earning him a groan from the apprentice as they buried their head against his chest.

"Not all of us are built to walk around shirtless in freezing temperatures, y'know." They grumbled.

He couldn't help but laugh at their role reversal, him being the teasing one as they grouched.

"Such a wonderful sound." They hummed and he could feel them smile against him before the two of them settled into a comfortable silence.

There was a certain comfort to be found in just sitting together, watching the fire like this. He wondered if they could do this at his hut as well if—no, _when_ they got back.

The thought brought up a question that he hadn’t really considered yet because of the ever-present danger they were facing on a daily basis. What were they going to do when they got back?

Would they want to stay in Vesuvia? What if they took up that position full time at the palace? Would they come visit again? What if they asked him to leave the forest behind?

His arms tightened around them slightly as he mulled this over.

Leaning to the side, they looked up at him.

“What is it?”

“Oh, uh,” Muriel pursed his lips slightly before decided to just get it out there. “…Where are you going to go after this is done?”

“Back to my shop, I guess. I’ve neglected it enough as it is.”

“Oh.” Muriel trailed off into silence, staring out into the hearth as he came to his conclusion. “So this is the last time we’ll spend together.”

The apprentice shook their head right away. “Muriel, I’m not going to suddenly ignore you when we get back to Vesuvia.”

“…You won’t?”

“Of course not. You’re stuck with me now.” They laughed as they pressed a quick peck to his cheek. “Besides, I’d miss you too much.”

He felt his face heat at that.

“Asra misses you too, you know. You’re welcome to come by any time.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” He said, thinking back to the number of fragile wares that had met their untimely doom because he tried to fit his oversized figure into the shop.

“Muriel, I mean it. You’re always welcome.”

“F-fine.” He huffed before resting his chin on their shoulder.

A smile came up on their face as he did, reaching back to stroke his hair.

“You’re welcome to come to my hut too. I’ll leave it unlocked.” He mumbled, turning in to nuzzle into their neck as he relaxed into their touch. With a low chuckle, he added, “Not that that’s stopped you before.”

“My bad.” They laughed along with him.

After a bit of silence, the two just indulging in one another’s presence, Muriel couldn’t help but ask to make sure.

“Are you okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” They hummed curling back against him. “With you here safe? I’m perfect. I can’t wait to get back though.”

“Yeah.”

“No more of this constant fear and having to always watch your back.”

“Or having the fate of Vesuvia weighing on our shoulders.” He added.

“That too.” They sighed. “I feel like I could go back and just nap for a week straight.”

Muriel laughed again at that.

“That sounds like it would be nice.”

“Of course, it would be better if I got to nap with you.”

Muriel just hid his blushing face back into their neck.

“That would... also be nice.” He finally admitted when he breathed them in, knowing he'd never be able to deny indulging himself in their presence. 

“Then it’s a date.” They sighed a laugh at his touch. “A nap date.”

At that, Muriel pulled back to look at them wide-eyed.

The sight made them laugh even more before they turned around until they were facing him. Gently taking his face in their hands, they pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, flustering him further.

"Unless you have any other ideas for our first date?" They mused, looking at him with teasing, half-lidded eyes and a sly smile.

They continued like that, the expert tease that they were, making him blush and stutter at their coy words until Muriel worried that he would combust right then and there. Eventually, he pulled them back into his chest, maybe a bit too frantically, as he tried to earn himself some time to breathe and calm his heart.

They didn't resist, happily snuggling back in to him as they showed him some mercy.

“Tomorrow…” He started after he had felt he could talk again.

“Tomorrow.” They agreed.

“No, I mean...” He struggled to find a way to say it. Placing his hands over their hips, he continued. “Meeting with Morga will be dangerous. All we know is that we’re meeting her tomorrow. There’s no guarantee that she’s even going to give us the information we came for.” He scowled at the thought. “But please, I need you to stay safe.”

“The same goes for you.” They agreed, looking a little concerned at his sudden serious tone.

“I’m worried.”

“I can see.”

“Well she’s already tried to attack us once, and I almost killed a member of her tribe. I also didn’t do what she asked me to at the end of the battle and—”

“Muriel…” They breathed, coming in close.

“Just, please don’t put yourself in danger?” He pleaded, unable to stop his eyes from drifting down to their lips. They were near enough that he could feel their breath.

“I won’t.” They promised, “You too, though.”

He hesitated.

“I can’t lose you again.” He admitted with a sigh, “Not now, not like this.”

That made them pause. “Again?” They asked.

“I-I’ll try not to.” He said quickly, trying to get them off of his accidental admission. “But your safety comes first. You have to make it back to Vesuvia.”

Thankfully they let it go, instead opting to press a searing kiss to his lips. It was heavy, but not tender like the ones they had shared in the springs. This was a promise, a declaration.

“We make it back together.” They said slowly when they pulled back.

Muriel’s eyes avoided the intensity of their gaze, he even thought for a moment that he could spot the crackle of their power behind their eyes. Silhouetted by the fireplace behind them, it looked as though their fiery determination shone through them.

The sight of them like this was almost enough to compel him to agree right there, but in his heart, he knew that the South was as unpredictable as it was dangerous. There was no way he could guarantee both of their safeties.

But by the divine, if he wouldn’t try.

The apprentice had inspired a hope in him that he hadn’t felt in years. The drive for survival, a spark of brilliant light in an otherwise dreary life. He not only wanted to make it to tomorrow, he wanted to live on. He wanted a life, a future that included both them and Asra. He wanted as many days as he was permitted in this life to see the two of them happy.

Not just happy together off in their own world. With him.

He wasn’t sure how everything was going to work when they got back, but at least now he had something to look forward to.

He steeled his resolve and looked back at them, finally meeting the determination in the gaze with his own. For them, he would be bold. He would fight, not just for them, but with them.

Leaning in, he let his lips ghost the barest of touches over theirs before he spoke his promise against them:

“Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo I’m back (kinda). I’m definitely not going to be able to keep up the updates at the same rate as they were, but I’ve got some time lately and I’m gonna try and get these out as fast as I can. I still don’t know how tf I was able to do daily updates for like 15+ chapters. That was a wild time. Anyways, life’s caught up to me but I don’t want to leave this story hanging, so please be patient with me. Thanks so much <3


	29. The Spy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like things I had been building up/alluding to aren't as effective when the last time I mentioned them was months ago... oh well.

It was far before dawn when Muriel’s eyes fluttered open.

He hadn’t remembered falling asleep, but he found himself laying under the covers and taking up more of the bed than would be his fair share. He shuffled back, correcting himself to give the apprentice more room. When he looked over though, they weren’t there.

Panic shot him up, nearly making him dizzy with the motion as he placed a hand beside him on the bed to steady himself and blink stars out of his vision.

Gritting through it, he scanned the room, searching for any sign of them. The fireplace had burnt itself out by now, leaving only the barest embers that did nothing to stave off the darkness. Through the blur of sleep still in his eyes, a flicker of candlelight caught his attention.

At a small desk to the side of the room, the apprentice sat, quill in hand, as they carefully scribed something down. Even in the faint glow of the single candle, he could see them worrying their lip as they wrote.

He spoke their name to catch their attention, and immediately felt a small pang of guilt as they startled. A panicked sweep of their arm sent several crumpled-up papers and an ink well to their doom on the floor.

“Muriel!” They gasped. A hand flew to their heart as if to calm it as they gave an embarrassed laugh. “You’re up early.”

“You haven’t slept.” He assumed.

“No.” They sighed as they looked down at the paper in front of them. “I… I had a lot on my mind.”

“Oh, uh, sorry.” Muriel mumbled, not sure how else to respond. After a moment, he grabbed the covers and flipped them back to invite them back into the bed.

The apprentice looked almost woefully back at their quill and the small mess they had made before a small smile crept up on their face.

“I guess this is as good as I can get it.” They laughed lightly, adding a quick little note to the bottom of the paper before shaking it a bit to dry. “And there’s nothing for you to apologize for, Muriel.”

Muriel waited patiently as they folded the parchment up and slipped it into a familiar looking envelope. He raised a brow as he watched them carefully write on the front and hold it up to the candlelight, that smile still teasing at their lips.

With a sidelong glance his way, they pressed their lips to the back of it, as if sealing it with their kiss.

At his expression, they gave a soft chuckle and rose from the desk, padding back over to the bed.

“Jealous?” They hummed, waving the purple envelope flippantly.

“A bit.” He admitted.

At his honesty, they gave an earnest laugh and leaned down over the bed to catch his chin. The barest touch of their fingertips tilted it up, angling his face up to them. They drew him in slow, but the exact moment before his lips touched theirs, the envelope was flicked upwards. The kiss that was intended for the apprentice instead landed on the sudden, papery barrier.

He pulled back in surprise, his cheeks heating. He narrowed his eyes at them as they plopped themselves down on the bed with a small fit of laughter.

“There. Now we’re both jealous.” They smiled up at him as they settled in.

He felt a bit childish, but having just woken up, he couldn’t stop himself from giving a slight huff.

“I don’t see how that solves anything.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t.” They mused, playfully tapping their chin as they propped themselves back up on an elbow. “I wonder what could be done instead…”

“I’m just going to go back to sleep.” He said, willing his face to cool as he lowered himself back down.

“Wait, wait.” They laughed, catching one of his hands.  

Slightly confused, he watched as they pressed the purple kiss-stealer into his palm.

“It’s for you.” They said, guiding his fingers to curl around it. “You can read it in the morning, I just… had to get all these feelings down in words for you. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep otherwise. Easier said than done, mind you.”

He gave the dyed paper in his hand a slightly anxious look, which prompted another laugh from the apprentice.

“Oh, it’s nothing that you’d need to be worried about. At least, I hope not.” They shrugged as they moved themselves towards him once he had set the letter aside and settled back in. Coming in close – all while keeping a close eye on his reactions – they laid on their side facing him. “You know, I could give you a little sneak preview of the sappy stuff I wrote in there.”

The back of their fingers grazed delicately over his cheekbone, and they looked up at him almost dreamily.

“How?” He breathed.

“Like this.”

They kissed him for real that time.

 

 

Muriel wasn’t sure how he knew he was dreaming, but he was certain of it.

First of all, he figured he would remember if he had journeyed outside in what looked to be the middle of nowhere in knee-deep in snow.

Secondly, everything seemed a little _too_ real. The specks of crystalline glitter that drifted down from sky were too bright, too vibrant. The vast expanse of twilight sky overhead held too many stars, obscured only by the occasional ribbon of resplendent light that danced across them.

There was the barest speck of light on the horizon, just a whisper left of a setting sun that bled its amber light up into violet, then faded into rich blues overhead.

The crisp bite of a winter wind lifted tendrils of his hair and seemed to cut right through him. Rather than being painful, the chill of it through him felt almost inquisitive, as if the scene was observing him just as he was it.

He let out a puff of breath, watching the fog rise and fade into the air.

He seemed to be standing at the edge of some vast, dense forest. Most of the trees were barren trunks, their bark a peculiar shade of grey, that stretched up impossibly high into the sky. Between them, lofty fir branches were weighed down by the fresh snow, their lush green the only speck of colour peeking through in the dark forest.

Muriel stood there contemplating his next move for some time. The woods before him felt ancient, the very embodiment of fortitude in the face of the elements. Something so uncaring in its age and removed from the world he knew that it seemed to twist at his heart just peering into it.

For a moment, it reminded him of when he used to look out over the ocean at the Vesuvian docks. How he felt when the thought about how the water stretched as far as he could see and even then, he knew it kept going beyond that. That it was deeper than he would ever be able to wrap his head around and held an entire world of its own, overwhelming in its sheer vastness.

There was something dangerous about this forest, he could tell.

Not the type of danger one might expect from a dark swath of unknown woodland. No, it was deeper than that, tapping at something primal within himself. Not as if there was some menacing beast lurking in the shadows.

What unnerved him was that the sight of it beckoned him in like a siren’s song, and just how well that song resonated within him.

While he couldn’t possibly know what laid ahead, the woods seemed to sing of pure apathy of existence. It offered the relief of any worldly obligations, the promise of complete obscurity. It tempted him with the comfort of total and absolute freedom.

That deep part within him that was so allured was one he recognized. It was the instinct he had followed through so many of his earlier years. It was the one that helped him survive in the docks, in the Coliseum, and the one that led him into the Vesuvian forest. It was fear, it was self-preservation, and defensiveness, among other things. He understood why it was so enticed.

It called to the very nature of that part of him. It wanted desperately to take that first step forward, to let the wind behind him carry him into a wild sprint to be lost among the trees. There would be no worry, no pain to be had there. It laid before him a future of comfortable meaninglessness. Beyond just solitude, it offered him nothingness: a life based only on the purest of instincts, yet still with the excitement of that feral edge.

The thrall of the scene distracted him enough that he didn’t even notice when a peculiar, glowing mote began to drift around the corners of his vision. It edged closer and closer, floating about until it nearly bounced off his nose to break him out of his trance.

He shook his head in surprise before blinking down at the little thing that had caught his attention. It had drifted down to settle just above the snow in front of him. He was sure he was seeing things, but it almost looked like it was looking up at him too.

He stared at it curiously for a moment before lowering himself down on a knee to get a closer look.

Haloed by golden light, it was just barely bigger than an acorn. Now that he got a better look at it, he could see he hadn’t been imagining things. There were two wide, white spots glowing brighter than the rest of it that blinked at him.

He reached out to it, offering an open hand. It gave a small spin on the spot before floating forwards, coming to a rest on his palm.

It didn’t seem to actually touch his skin, but he could feel the warmth it gave off, heating where the winter chill had settled on it. With it in his palm, the thrall of the forest seemed to quiet, somehow muting as those little “eyes” watched him.

He rose, standing back up with the little thing still nestled in him palm. Two tendrils snaked out of its side like arms to keep itself in place as he moved. Despite its flame-like glow, the edges of its form danced more like smoke, twisting and curling lazily into the air before fading. While its silhouette was constantly changing, there was a plump sort of roundness that always remained.

It regarded him for a moment longer, blinking up at him slowly, before it suddenly disappeared. Not like it had run away, but more like it had just blinked out of existence.

Muriel, surprised, looked around almost worriedly for the little thing. He didn’t spot it at first, but just as suddenly as it had disappeared, it popped back up. Not in his palm again, but rather several paces to his right, further down the treeline.

It hovered around, its movements not unlike the sporadic flapping of a butterfly, and seemed to wait for him. It wasn’t like the compulsion of the forest though, this felt more like it was just asking him to follow.

He took a tentative step towards it, which appeared to be what it wanted as it gave a gleeful little spin further up into the air before blinking out of sight and reappearing further away in the same direction.

This went on for some time, Muriel following his enthusiastic little guide as it popped in and out. It just seemed to take him perpendicular to the treeline, leading him further down until he noticed the forest itself began to grow a bit darker.

In it, he could have sworn he saw other little specks of golden light peeking through, blinking in and out between the trunks. If it wasn’t for the one in front of him, he would have just assumed they were fireflies.

Not too long into their journey, the wispy thing stopped disappearing, instead it took to bouncing around in place until Muriel reached it. Where it stopped, Muriel could now see there was an unusual space between the trunks. The earth between them was flattened and cleared of snow, leading like a path deeper into the woods. Lining it, there were a few more curious-looking wisps that faded in and out, leaving just enough light that he could see where he was going if he should choose to follow it.

The one that had been leading him along came up close enough that he could see it blink at him again before it zipped around, circling him a couple of times before it shot down the path at a dizzying speed.

He watched them go, squinting to try and see further down it. As he did, he noticed another light. Despite being somewhat further away, he could tell it was the same shade of light as the little ones floating about, but it was much, much brighter. As he watched, he noticed it swaying and growing, moving closer. A hint of myrrh came into the air.

Before he got the chance to even process what he was seeing though, something latched onto him and pulled him backwards, sharply.

There wasn’t time to struggle as he was yanked back, the entire scene shattering like glass around him. The brightest light lingered only for a moment longer in his vision before disappearing completely.

He felt himself being ripped into reality at a violent speed. He only managed one glance behind him at the offender, revealing a ragged, scarred wolf with his coat in its jaws, before he crashed back into the waking world.

 

 

Muriel woke to the feeling that somebody had just dumped cold water on his head. He shot up at the same time the apprentice did, both of them tightening their grip on the other as they did.

It took a moment for to catch their breaths, but they sent a wary glance at each other, realizing they both must have had the same rude awakening.

Just as they recovered, the tapestry of their room was harshly pushed aside.  

There stood the druid, the hood of her pelt draped low over her head. Beneath it, her usual neutral-frown was replaced by a deep scowl, not too far from a snarl.

Her posture was just short of bristling at the entranceway.

Without thinking, Muriel, pulled the apprentice closer, moving them more behind him so he put himself between them and the wolf at their door.

There was a tense moment of silence as Muriel stared the wolf down, trying to piece together what exactly was going on despite still reeling from the shock of his awakening.

The faintest hint of colour was beginning to touch the soft light coming in through the windows, so it was still quite early. Much earlier than he had anticipated them getting kicked out of the Victors Quarters.

The druid stood tense, a muscle in her jaw flexing as she seemed to contemplate her next move.

Muriel, despite having just woken up, was already prepared for a fight if it came to it. The stiff line of her shoulders made him wary, as if she might attack at any moment.

Rather than anger though, she seemed to radiate a cold type of frustration.  

A low hiss of breath escaped her in a forceful sigh, before she shook her head down at the ground.

“ _You must be honest.”_ She said, her voice low and strained as the golden lupine eye settled on him. “ _Why are you here?_ ”

“Morga had summoned us. We came seeking a cure for the plague.” He said, not letting up his defences.

“ _Did you truly not know of your Mirth-hood?”_

He bit back a bitter remark at that. There was something that changed in their tone, their voice was heavy.

“No.” He said with as much sincerity as he could muster. “I did not know.”

That golden eye searched him for a moment, before the druid looked down at her hand.

” _…You are in danger._ ” She said eventually, voice uncommonly quiet. “ _Yesterday’s victory is now meaningless… and Morga calls._ ”

“What danger?” The apprentice asked, tone serious as they try to shuffle back around Muriel to see her.

“ _The warriors caught their prey,_ ” She flinched as she spoke. “ _and its smells of Mirth._ ”

The apprentice gave a worried look to Muriel, who in turn settled on just staring at the druid, trying to piece together what they were saying. He wished that they would speak plainly for once.

“Are you saying we should run?” He asked.

The druid stared at the floor, fidgeting in a way that made it seem like she was going over countless possibilities and answers in her head before she let out another sigh.

“ _’Bring them immediately,’ Morga said._ ” She settled on saying before turning and leaving. “ _It is best to not disappoint._ ”

 

 

The druid didn’t speak as she led the two of them out of the Victors Quarters and over to the banquet hall, where they had woken up when they first came to the tribe. The apprentice had offered to wake the other three to bring them along, but the druid only shook her head in warning and carried on.

Despite the other three not being particularly well suited to defending against the Scourge, Muriel couldn’t help but feel vulnerable without them there as well. Worry had settled deep in his chest as they approached, and he found himself scowling at the ground as he wracked his brain for some sort of escape plan to get them both out of this.

It wasn’t until the apprentice touched one of his hands lightly on the walk over that he realized he had balled them into tights fists at his side.

They gave him a worried look of their own, before easing his hand open to hold theirs.

The two of them continued on in silence, following close behind the druid until they were led inside.

The hall was empty save for two: the leader of the warriors, and what looked to be a giant, bloody mass of feathers on the ground.

The apprentice gasped at the sight.

The warrior fixed him with a furious look, one that could almost measure up to Morga’s. Her lip curled into a snarl at him, but a moment of confusion flashed across her features when she saw him, obviously not quite remembering him.

“ _The druid has brought Morga’s guests._ ” She stressed the last two words as if trying to remind the warrior of that fact.  

Muriel noticed that the druid kept her place in front of them, as if shielding them.

“Do not stand in my way.” The warrior warned her, her voice going soft as she spoke, making it sound more like a plea than a threat.

“ _The druid is not in your way, if it is the right path the warrior seeks._ ” She said back evenly.

“My heart,” the warrior sighed, shaking her head, “I know you just want to protect the Mirth. I will not hurt you, but my tribe comes first.”

“ _It always does_.” Her tone became biting.

The two shared a tense moment before the warrior’s gaze steeled. She straightened her posture, looking to do her best Morga impression, and spoke coolly then.

“Stand down, wolf. That is an order.”

The weight of magic that settled in the room seemed to make everything still for a second. He saw the druid tense and bristle at the warrior. Despite the precariousness of the situation, Muriel couldn’t help but think of how the wash of the druid’s magic reminded him of the healing springs. It felt considerably weaker though. It wavered, as if struggling to keep itself up.  

“You’re drained from attending Luxx, it would be foolish to try anything.” The warrior said, her tone keeping that cold neutrality to it as she tapped at the blades on her hip. “Stand down.”

At the repeat of the command, the druid slumped ever so slightly, but it was enough that the warrior gave her a small nod.

She sent an exhausted, apologetic look over her shoulder at them before retreating, moving to stand over by wall instead.

“Now,” The warrior breathed, her anger flaring back up when she looked over at him. “I’ll give you about 10 seconds to explain yourself before I spare us all the trouble and kill you where you stand.”

While her grip tightened on one of her blades, turning her knuckles white, her other hand gestured down at the bloody scene in front of her.

Muriel couldn’t find it in himself to respond. His stomach churned as he looked down at the withering, bloody mass of feathers on the ground. It panted trembling breaths as spasms of pain wracked through it. He could see where several arrows were lodged deep in its body, and he could see the streaked trail of blood coming from another entrance where it must have been dragged in and unceremoniously dropped there on the ground.

He let out a shaking breath of his own as he took a step towards it, sympathy gripping his heart.

Muriel always had a sort of affinity with animals. He intuitively could understand their gestures and parse out what they were thinking.

He didn’t need his talent to tell that this poor creature was in absolute agony, though.

He knelt down and reached out a hand to calm it before stopping himself, thinking it would only make things worse, maybe for both of them given its deadly-looking beak and long talons.

After a moment of just awkwardly hovering near it, trying to think of something to do to help, it seemed to notice him. There was a strange flash of recognition, and he wondered for a moment if this was Morga’s raptor, but any unbloodied feathers he could see weren’t black or silver. Instead, they were a spotted brown.

It fixed him with startling green eyes and let out a shriek that echoed around the banquet hall loud enough to make him flinch and his ears ring.

A moment of panic caught him as it writhed again, struggling to move. He saw then that it was trying to move closer to him. Despite its injuries, it managed to hobble about half the distance before collapsing again with a spasm.

A wave of pain clouded its eyes, fading them to a more muted amber before they snapped back to the previous green.

“Muriel…” The apprentice whispered, voice tense as they came up and rested a tentative hand on his shoulder.

The bird screeched again, louder this time, at the apprentice’s voice, but it was overtaken by another convulsion of pain. This time, it made no attempt to come closer. Rather, it rested its head on the ground and shuddered out a breath.

“Can’t you help it?” The apprentice asked the druid, who stood rigidly at the side of the room. When they didn’t get a response, they turned back to the warrior. “Is there no way to heal it?”

“ _The eagle is already dead._ ” The druid let out a shaky sigh before turning on her heel and stalking away.

Looking down at the pitiful thing, Muriel could see what she meant. It was still breathing, but some wounds were beyond the limits of healing magic. It wouldn’t be long now.

“It recognized you, that settles it” The warrior hissed out through gritted teeth, shaking her head looking almost disappointed as she unhooked her blade from the belt. “Damn him, Luxx was right. You’re a spy.”

“What are you talking about?” The apprentice narrowed their eyes at her, pulling Muriel back up to his feet as they took on a defensive stance.

“It seems that any hospitality we had offered was misconstrued as weakness,” She spat, flicking her wrist upwards to start the spin of her blade. “For such an insult, I should paint the floors with your blood as a warning to any future guests, lest they get the wrong idea.”

Muriel froze, not wanting to make any movements in case she sent a blade flying. There would be no way he could react in time for that. His heart hammered in his chest, the adrenaline sinking in and readying him to meet her threat head-on should she move.

From behind him, he could feel the apprentice’s magic start to energize the air. Sparks popped around them.

Everything was tense, all three of them coiled tight and the air between them taught, waiting for some sort of trigger. The only sounds were the rattling breaths of the eagle and the sharp ring blade cutting through the air as the warrior spun it.

Not one of them noticed the druid returning with Morga until the leader spoke.

“ _Hildr Gunnrsdottir_.” Morga’s authoritative tone was sharp and it rang through the hall. Her pale eyes fixed on the warrior’s back.

At the sound, the warrior immediately straightened, snatching her blade out of the air and snapping it back to her hip as she spun on her heel to face her leader. She went still as a statue as Morga’s gaze flicked over to the eagle, to them, and then back to her.

“Forgive me,” she said with a deep bow, “My revered leader, I meant no offense. I would never question your authority or your choice of guest.” She spoke quickly, her tone clipped as she rushed to get the words out. “I mean only to question his ties, what he may have brought here against your will. He may be taking advantage—”

“Stop talking.” Morga said, sounding almost sounding bored as Hildr cut herself off so quickly, Muriel wondered if she had actually bitten her tongue.

Rather than continue to address her subordinate, Morga walked past her to examine the eagle on the ground.

It still lived, but just barely. It gave distressed little sounds as it laid there. Morga circled around it until she came around to its head. Not seeming to care about the pool of blood, she knelt in front of it, leaning in close and using her spear for balance as she took the bird’s head in one hand.

With a surprising gentleness to her touch, she turned its head one way, then another, before mumbling something under her breath.

She moved her hand over its eyes, covering them as she wrapped fingers around its skull. With one swift, twisting motion and a sharp crack, the eagle went limp.

Morga stood back up, giving one last look down at the corpse before turning back to Hildr.

“That was the Mama Bear’s seer.” she scowled.

“Yes,” the warrior agreed with a nod, “It had been scouting over the camp since the Vesuvians arrived, I believe the Mirth brought it with him to spy.”

“And so you shot the eagle down and dragged its sight all through our halls?” Morga raised an eyebrow.  “Gave Cathair the grand tour, hmm?”

“I-I…” Hildr’s eyes went wide, before she shook herself out of it. “The eagle was blindfolded, she should not have been able to see anything inside the halls. I had to check its reaction to the Mirth, to see if he was betraying us.”

“How much time did you waste hunting it? It was old, Jæger could have taken care of this easily.”

“We needed it alive.”

“Pointless suffering.” Morga spat with a dismissive wave before gesturing a thumb at him. “You didn’t need it alive, he has no connection to the caravan, which you would have known if you had consulted me rather than try to go over my head with this.”

Muriel saw all the colour drain from the warrior’s face. She stood motionless for a moment trying to recover before she began sputtering out an apology.

“My leader—"

“Save it.” Morga flattened her with a look. “See to it that this mess gets cleaned before the morning meal, the last thing we need is someone getting sick. It’s already starting to smell like a musk bear in here. Once that’s done, get your warriors and the guard in order, we should be expecting _visitors_ in the coming days.”

With that, Morga stepped out of the pool of blood, leaving the eagle behind to walk back towards her room.

The druid followed, trailing close behind her heels. She sent a glance over her shoulder at where Muriel and the apprentice stood probably looking a little dumbfounded.

Muriel looked over at the apprentice, who gave a shrug before following along too.

They all left the warrior behind where she stood, completely frozen, staring at the eagle.

When they reached the room, Muriel saw that the tapestry covering the door was even more unnerving up close. He remembered seeing the scene from the druid’s lesson on the tribes, the one of a young Morga leading her assault on the wolves.

He also couldn’t help but notice the way the druid seemed to shrink away from it, even when she stepped ahead of Morga to pull it back for her.

As Morga passed her to duck into her room, the druid whispered a spell. At first, he couldn’t see what had happened, but when Morga turned back around, the blood on her clothing had begun to fade away.

“There is no use in you working yourself to death.” She said with a sigh, ducking down a bit to peer under the wolf pelt through narrowed eyes. “You're exhausted. Go rest, your duties can wait until tomorrow.”

The druid hesitated a moment before giving a tight nod. She waited until Muriel and the apprentice tentatively stepped inside before dropping the tapestry and leaving them alone to Morga.

The woman before them closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose before muttering something about “children” before returning her gaze to the two of them.

“Well, I believe it is time for us to talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed & I'll be back around to post the next chapter as soon as I can!  
> In the meantime, if you're looking for a bit more to read, [I have some side stories posted here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20006296/chapters/47369311) Currently, it's only Luxx's backstory, but I'll be posting more stuff on there soon too.   
> Depending on what direction this fic takes, I might give it a different rating, not entirely sure yet, let me know what you think!  
> 


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